"Because I feel that I am going to die, and I don't want all this evil charged up against me."
"And you thought it would not be hard to get the better of a boy like
Jack Benson?"
"I thought it would be easy enough," admitted Truax. "So did Tip
Gaynor."
"Then it shows you, Truax," broke in Doctor McCrea, now laughing, "how far below the mark you shot in guessing at Jack Benson's ingenuity and brains. For it was he showed me how to induce you to make this confession, voluntarily, after having refused to answer any of the lieutenant commander's questions."
"What do you mean?" demanded Sam Truax, quickly, a queer look creeping into his face.
"Why, my man, I mean," grinned the naval surgeon, "that, when I was first called in to you, you were no more sick than I was. You were scared, first of all, by the remarks of others. Then, after we got you to bed in here, we dosed you with ippecac a few times. That started your stomach to moving up and down until you were convinced that you were a very sick man."
"What!" now roared Sam Truax, sitting up in the berth and staring angrily.
"Oh, the ippecac was my own choice," nodded the doctor, "but the general idea was Mr. Benson's. My man, with a lad like him you haven't a one-in-ten chance."
"So, to work a confession out of me, you've poisoned me?" gasped Sam
Truax.
"Oh, you're not very badly poisoned," laughed Doctor McCrea. "About the most that you need, now, is to get into your clothes and take a few turns up and down the deck with a marine. The fresh air will brace you up all right. I shan't be surprised if the ippecac leaves you with an appetite after a while."