The Orphan, left to himself, felt about as miserable as he could be. Dr. Gordon came in to give him an injection of morphia, just as Barnes came to the cabin carrying a tray with his breakfast.
"Which will you have for breakfast?" Dr. Gordon asked, in his funny way—"a little morphia or some bacon and eggs?"
"I think I'd rather have the bacon and eggs," said the Orphan.
CHAPTER XVIII
Bombarding at Suvla Bay
The Orphan's wound gave a great deal of trouble, and for the next fortnight—a "precious" long fortnight—he remained in his bunk. The Honourable Mess looked after him, and kept up his spirits. Captain Macfarlane occasionally came in and talked to him, sitting with his long thin legs crossed, smoking his inevitable cigarette, and tugging gently at his pointed beard. He told him of the transports pouring reinforcements into Mudros in great numbers; of the old "Edgars" coming East, and of the newly built monitors which had begun to arrive—big ones with 14-inch guns, and practically unsinkable; small ones with a 6-inch or 9.2-inch gun in the bows, and drawing so little water, that a submarine would stand but little chance of torpedoing them. "There is no doubt, Mr. Orpen," he would say in his quiet, humorous manner, "they are only waiting for you to be on your feet again to begin a great advance."
Mr. Meredith, Dr. Gordon, the little Padre, and the cheery Fleet-Paymaster often came to see him; so did Plunky Bill, with his face and shoulder swathed in bandages, extremely proud of himself. "If it wasn't for the Fleet-Surgeon a-saying they'd to be dressed twice a day, and 'im a-poking round and 'urting somethink 'orrid, I wouldn't care a blow—not me!"
Fletcher brought him "Kaiser Bill" to play with. "He brings luck, does that tortoise; if we'd only had him with us last time, things would have been different, sir. Well, well, the picket-boat has gone, poor thing; but I was getting too old for her. My eyes aren't what they were; for the last month I could hardly read the gauge-glass in her stokehold—not even with my spectacles."
He liked to talk to the Orphan about his sons who had been killed in France, and, what was most unusual, could talk about them without worrying him.
However, the Orphan was presently allowed to hobble about on crutches; and one morning shortly afterwards the weekly trawler from Mudros brought down all the gun-room stores which the messman had ordered from Malta.