"He will probably be able to be moved to-morrow," added the medical man. "Where is your home, Mrs. Collinson?"
"At Derby," was the reply. "We are on our annual holiday. We always go sailing on the South Coast every summer."
"'Fraid you won't do any more this summer," declared Dr. Baker. "Derby's a long journey for a man with a compound fracture. Why not take rooms in the village until your husband is really able to stand the fatigue of a railway journey?"
"That is precisely what I thought of doing," said Mrs. Collinson, "until we can make arrangements to get the yacht back to her home port, Poole."
"There is no immediate hurry for you to get rooms," remarked Mr. Graham. "If you don't mind the company of a few rather high-spirited boys, we can fix you up with a cabin on board."
"That will be nice," exclaimed Mrs. Collinson, with genuine gratitude. "I am sure I'd quite enjoy it. But I hope it would not be putting you out?"
Dr. Baker took his leave, promising to look in again next morning unless something occurred to warrant an earlier visit.
Findlay rowed him ashore. The dinghy was away quite twice as long as the trip required, and when Jock returned he had a large basket in the stern-sheets.
Without saying a word to his companions on deck Findlay secured the dinghy and went below to the galley. There, in an atmosphere of steam, was Bedford in his robe of office—a white apron tied under his armpits.
"What's for dinner to-day, Frank?" inquired the Second.