“Hang Captain O’Shea; he is making a confounded nuisance of himself,” muttered Van Steen as he reluctantly departed with Miss Hollister. They passed among the lounging patriots and came upon their leader, Colonel Calvo, whom the flight from the cruiser had frightened, not out of his boots, but into them. As a cure for sea-sickness he had found the boom of an eight-inch gun extremely efficacious. He flourished his hat with flamboyant gallantry and bowed low as he addressed Miss Hollister.
“Ah, ha, Señora! To behol’ you is a pleasure for me an’ my braves’ of soldiers. Yesterday we was ready to fight the ship of Spain, to defen’ the ladies with our lives.”
The dignified spinster looked confused. She resented the bold stare of the colonel’s black eyes and the smirking smile. With a stiff little nod she grasped Gerald’s arm and told him, as they moved to another part of the deck:
“I hate that man. Is he really a brave officer?”
“Not yet, but perhaps, Miss Hollister. We shall have to ask Johnny Kent about him.”
Pausing at the engine-room door, they found an assistant on duty. To their inquiry he replied:
“The chief is in his bunk, all bandaged up and using language. His arm and chest were blistered bad.”
“I should like very much to do something for him,” timidly answered Miss Hollister. “Who is attending him?”
“The Cuban doctor has a medicine chest, ma’am, and we all try to soothe him. But he cusses us out and throws things at us.”
“I will look in his room and leave a message for you, Miss Hollister,” said Gerald.