"You did jolly well," said the Third Officer admiringly.
"Wait until you've eaten yours," cautioned Hilda. "Then you might have cause to regret your hasty opinion."
Burgoyne stepped back and altered the position of the candle until the light shone on the girl's face. She returned the steady gaze unmoved.
"I suppose you know," he remarked slowly, "that I am responsible, as senior executive officer, for the passengers and crew of the Donibristle? You do? That's good. Then I'm going to reprimand you. Why have you washed your face?"
Hilda looked astonished.
"Washed my face! Of course I had to wash, especially as I'm a cook. You wouldn't like your meals prepared with dirty hands."
"No, I wouldn't," admitted Alwyn. "But I might point out that it is not customary to touch food with one's face. Now look here—I'm serious. In future rub your cheeks and chin over with ashes, or you'll be spotted for an absolute cert. Right-o! I'm glad you see my point."
Burgoyne's next step was to visit the wounded men. He found Captain Blair considerably better. The steward reported that the skipper's temperature had fallen, and was now only one degree above normal, while his wounds showed no sign of complications. Mostyn was not so well. He recognized Burgoyne and greeted him with a faint smile.
"I'm just slacking," he remarked feebly, "but you won't want me for a while, I guess. An operator without his 'set' is like Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark. But we had a run for our money, hadn't we?"
With one exception the men appeared to be doing well; but, as the steward was cautious enough to remark, it was too early to tell how things would pan out.