'I am sitting here to see if you want any help before the doctor comes.'
'Yes, I want something. Get me another glass of grog, and let it be warm and strong. Do you hear?'
'It is not good for you, mate. When Jörgen went away he said you were not to have more than one glass of grog, and you have already drunk three.'
'You blackguard! mix me a glass directly. Don't you think I am the best judge of what is good for me?'
Ebbe arose and went towards the fireplace, where a kettle of water was boiling. A bottle, half full, stood upon the table.
'It is too bad, when rum is so dear with us in these parts,' muttered the fisherman, while he mixed the grog. The stranger took no notice of him. 'I had to give three marks for the pint I bought for you.'
The mate still remained silent.
'Please to remember, mate, that the money spent for your rum was mine,' said Ebbe, in a surly tone.
'Oh yes, I shall remember it. Make yourself easy; you shall have your money back. What are three marks to me? I could cover you with gold, if it were not a useless expense.'
Ebbe's eyes sparkled, and he looked with reverence at the unknown, as he approached the bed with the desired grog. The mate raised himself, seized the glass, and emptied it at one draught.