“Has I got it right, zur?”
In the pause the spectators softly withdrew to the further end of the cabin.
“If he won’t fetch her aboard, Jagger,” said the doctor, turning to the dog’s master, “she’ll do very well, I’ll be bound, till we get back from the north. Eh, Jagger? If he cared very much, he’d fetch her aboard, wouldn’t he?”
“Ay, she’ll do very well,” the doctor repeated, now addressing my father, “till we get back. I’ll take a look at her then.”
I saw the color rush into my father’s face. Skipper Tommy laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Easy, now, Skipper David!” he muttered.
“Is I right,” said my father, bending close to the doctor’s face, “in thinkin’ you says you won’t come ashore?”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
“Is I right,” pursued my father, his voice rising, “in thinkin’ the gov’ment pays you t’ tend the sick o’ this coast?”