I did not mean to depend upon him for any service, except in the cabin and cook-room, and I was confident that the pistol would make him obedient. Peter rubbed the head of his late master diligently, as I told him to do, until his patient showed signs of returning animation; but he did not come to his senses for two hours. He was thoroughly steeped in whiskey; indeed, the yacht had the odor of a rum-shop, with what had been drank and what had been spilled.
"How do you feel, Phil?" asked Marian, after the excitement had partially subsided.
"Better, much better."
"Does your head ache now?"
"It does, severely, I should say, under ordinary circumstances; but I don't mind it now, since the prospect is changed. You are a brave girl, Marian," I added, gazing at her with admiration.
"I was terribly frightened. I was afraid Mr. Whippleton would shoot you."
"I think he would; he did fire at me; but he was too tipsy to take aim."
"Whiskey has been our friend, this time."
"It is more apt to be our friend when our enemies drink it than when we drink it ourselves. That was a happy expedient of yours, to give Peter a dram in the eyes."
"Gorrificious!" exclaimed the cook. "Twan't happy for me, miss."