Dead Man's Land Part 6

"Pretty country!" said Sir James sarcastically. "But you boys, who was that rough looking sailor you picked up with?"

"We didn't pick up with him, father," said Mark sourly.

"What, sir! Don't tell me that! I distinctly saw you with him out of the window."

"He picked up with us, father--" began Mark; and then he caught the doctor's eye and changed his lone, saying hastily, "He was a poor fellow in distress, father."

Here Mark stopped short, for he had returned to the hotel with the full intention of pleading the poor invalid's cause, and he felt that he had commenced by speaking in a way that must increase his father's irritation, for Sir James had been quite upset by the heat of the place and the discomforts of the miserable hotel to which he had been directed when on board the liner as being the best in the port.

He literally glared at his son, and Mark shrank and turned to look at the doctor.

Sir James waited till he saw his son lower his eyes, when he too turned to the doctor and looked at him fiercely, the two men exchanging a long questioning glance.

It was a painful silence, but there was virtue in it, for when it was broken it was by Sir James, who said after drawing a deep breath, "See if you can open that window a little farther, Mark. This place feels like an oven."

Mark sprang to his feet and drew the window a little forward, and then pushed it outward again, but only back in its former place.

"Hah! That's better, my boy," said his father, quite cheerfully. "Why, doctor, what a blessing a bucketful of ice would be here--if it wasn't lukewarm, Dean, eh?"

The boy addressed tried to laugh at his uncle's joke, but the production sounded hollow, and the silence recommenced, the doctor cudgelling his brains the while for something to say that should thoroughly change the conversation; but he cudgelled in vain.

At last, though, to his great relief, feeling as he did at the time that all the responsibility of the unpleasant voyage rested on his shoulders, Sir James cleared his throat as he sat back in a wicker chair mopping his forehead, and said quietly, "A beggar, Mark?"

"No, father," cried Mark eagerly jumping at the chance of saying something to divert his father's smouldering anger; "a poor English sailor."

"Well, the same thing, my boy, and I hope you relieved him--that is, if he was genuine."

"Oh, he was genuine enough, father," cried Mark, and his words almost tumbled over one another as he related something of the poor fellow's plight.

"Tut, tut, tut, tut!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sir James. "Very sad. Very hard for a man to be ill away from home. It would be a charity, doctor, if you saw the poor fellow in the morning to see if you could do anything for him."

"My dear Sir James, you forget that I am not a professional medico. Of course I am willing enough, and will see the poor fellow, but I gather from what Mark here says that he has pa.s.sed through all the stages of a jungle fever caught in some part of the Malay Peninsula, that he has been left here by the captain of his ship, and as far as my knowledge goes, the only thing I could recommend would be a sea voyage--say home."

"He said he didn't believe he'd live to reach home," cried Dean quickly.

"Or," continued the doctor, "a journey inland right up into the cool country away from this tropic malarial port."

"Ah!" cried Mark excitedly. "That's what he said, father, and he came to us to--"

Mark stopped short, gazing hard at his father, for a sudden shrinking as to how Sir James would take his words made him for the time being mute.

"Well, my boy, what did he say? Why don't you go on?"

"I didn't like to, father," faltered the boy.

"Why not, sir?"

"Because--because--"

"Well, because--because?"

"Because, father, I was afraid that you would think it so unreasonable."

"Humph! How much do you want, then, eh? I am afraid your distressed sailor is a bit of a beggar after all."

"Oh, no, father," cried Mark excitedly, and he had quite recovered his confidence now. "The poor fellow spoke as if he were appealing for his life."

"Was all this genuine, Mark, or the cunning of a practised mendicant-- stop--what do you say, Dean?"

"Oh, uncle, I am sure it was genuine."

"Humph! Yes," said Sir James. "You are like what your mother was, boy--easily moved. Sounds bad, doctor. What do you say?"

"Let us first hear the whole of Mark's story, sir," replied the doctor.

"Right. Phew! I don't think it's quite so hot as it was. Now, Mark, what more have you to say?"

The boy addressed was strung up now, and he spoke out firmly and quickly.

"He said, father, that he had heard we were going up the country and to the mountains to where it would be life to him; that he was a sailor, a handy man; that he should get better quickly, and would work and put his hand to anything, if we--if we--you, I mean, father--would take him with you--us, I mean--and--those are not quite the words he said, but that's what he meant, and I--I--"

The boy glanced in his father's lowering face and stopped short.

"And you--" began Sir James, and Mark's heart sank, for he felt that his appeal was vain.

In fact, his words sank almost to a whisper as he went on, "I said I'd ask you, father, if you would take him."

"Bah!" burst out Sir James angrily. "Unreasonable! Absurd!

Impossible! Do you mean to tell me that you wish me to saddle myself upon this disastrous journey with a sick man, perhaps a dying man? Why, boy, have you lost your senses? Do you mean to tell me that you would like to take him with us when we are already provided--even supposing that he was going to get better--provided, I say, with two excellent servants, strong, healthy, and ready to help us through our troubles?

Answer me, sir. Don't sit staring at me in that idiotic way. Now then, tell me--you first, Dean; you were in this hobble with your cousin.

Would you like to take him?"

"Yes, uncle," said Dean quietly.

"Pooh! That's your mother speaking, boy. Now you, Mark, if you are not afraid to speak, as you said just now. Would you really like to take him?"

"Yes, father; and I am sure if you saw the poor fellow you would feel the same."

"Well," cried Sir James excitedly, "of all the--the--Here, doctor, I have come, and I suppose I am to submit to--pooh!--there--it's this hot weather--let's get away as soon as we can, doctor, and--here, I feel sure that the boys have encountered some cunning impostor," and Sir James stopped short, and wiped his forehead before continuing, "Here, I say, Robertson, what about charity and one's fellow-creatures? And don't we read somewhere about helping a lame dog over a stile?"

"Yes, Sir James," said the doctor, very quietly.

"To be sure, and I am quite certain that this heat makes me feel horribly irritable. These boys take it all as coolly as--what do they say?--as cuc.u.mbers. Nothing affects them."

The two lads stared at each other as they recalled their walk, and burst into a half hysterical laugh.

"Why, uncle," cried Dean, "Mark's been horrid all day, and I haven't been a bit better."