“‘I’m all right, sir,’ ses old Dan, ’cept that I’ve been swoonding away a little.’
“‘Tell me exactly how you feel,’ ses the skipper, feeling his pulse.
“Then old Dan said his piece over to him, an’ the skipper shook his head an’ looked very solemn.
“‘How long have you been like this?’ he ses.
“‘Four or five years, sir,’ ses Dan. ‘It ain’t nothing serious, sir, is it?’
“‘You lie quite still,’ ses the skipper, putting a little trumpet thing to his chest an’ then listening. ‘Um! there’s serious mischief here I’m afraid, the prognotice is very bad.’
“‘Prog what, sir?’ ses Dan, staring.
“‘Prognotice,’ ses the skipper, at least I think that’s the word he said. ‘You keep perfectly still, an’ I’ll go an’ mix you up a draught, and tell the cook to get some strong beef-tea on.’
“Well, the skipper ’ad no sooner gone, than Cornish Harry, a great big lumbering chap o’ six feet two, goes up to old Dan, an’ he ses, ‘Gimme that book.’
“‘Go away,’ says Dan, ‘don’t come worrying ’ere; you ’eard the skipper say how bad my prognotice was.’