‘Well, I used to, and my mother she always told me, “Phil,” she used to say, “whenever you feels like that, turn round and touch wot’s scarin’ you, and when you feels nothin’ you’ll know it’s all right.” It’s just the same as that. I’ll go back, and once I’m in a boat again I’ll feel as right as a trivet, it’s the bein’ away and thinkin’ that does the damage.’
‘I think I see. You mean it’s the shadow that hurts, not the substance.’
‘You’ve got it, guvnor; that’s wot it is. But ’ere’s the sister comin’, so I guess you’ll ’ave to ’op it.’
‘Your time’s up,’ said the sister, smiling. ‘We can’t allow him to talk too much, and he will keep on talking.’
‘All right, sister, I’ll be a good boy,’ and the patient lay back with closed eyes and snored loudly.
‘Good-bye,’ I said, ‘and thanks so much for what you’ve told me. Anything you’d like: cigarettes and so on?’
‘No, thanks, guvnor, I’m all right,’ said the sleeper, coming suddenly to life; ‘but if you’re seein’ Mr Hellison, give ’im my respects and say I’m ’opin’ to be with ’im before long.’
I promised that I would.
‘Good-bye,’ I said again, ‘and best of luck and a quick recovery.’
The sister was waiting for me at the door, and beckoned impatiently.