"Blowin' adrift, Sir?" said Tom, dully.
"Yes! blowing adrift. Don't I speak plainly?"
The dullness went from Tom's face, suddenly.
"So it was, Sir," he said, his memory returning. "The bloomin' sail got chock full of wind. It caught me bang in the face."
He paused a moment.
"I believe—" he began, and then stopped once more.
"Go on!" said the Second Mate. "Spit it out!"
"I don't know, Sir," Tom said. "I don't understand—"
He hesitated again.
"That's all I can remember," he muttered, and put his hand up to the bruise on his forehead, as though trying to remember something.