Poor Raywood protested, with another groan, that his was a case in point, and it must come out; so Charlie sought for and found his forceps.
“It won’t take long, I suppose?” said the patient rather nervously, as he opened his mouth.
“Oh no. Only a moment or—”
A fearful yell, followed by a gasp, announced to the whole ship’s company that a crisis of some sort had been passed by some one, and the expert though amateur dentist congratulated his patient on his deliverance from the enemy.
Only three of the ship’s company, however, had witnessed the operation. One was Dick Darvall, the seaman who chanced to be steering at the time, and who could see through the open skylight what was being enacted in the cabin. Another was the captain, who stood beside him. The third was the cabin-boy, Will Ward, who chanced to be cleaning some brasses about the skylight at the time, and was transfixed by what we may style delightfully horrible sensations. These three watched the proceedings with profound interest, some sympathy, and not a little amusement.
“Mind your helm, Darvall,” said the Captain, stifling a laugh as the yell referred to burst on his ears.
“Ay, ay, sir,” responded the seaman, bringing his mind back to his duty, as he bestowed a wink on the brass-polishing cabin-boy.
“He’s up to everything,” said Darvall in a low voice, referring to our hero.
“From pitch-and-toss to manslaughter,” responded the boy, with a broad grin.
“I do believe, Mr Brooke, that you can turn your hand to anything,” said Captain Stride, as Charlie came on deck a few minutes later. “Did you ever study doctoring or surgery?”