Sail Ho! Part 9

I was obliged to laugh, and though Mr Denning looked angry, I saw Miss Denning turn away to hide a smile, for the captain and Mr Brymer laughed as merrily as I did. And no wonder, for just as Mr Preddle was bowing and smiling and talking hurriedly, the ship gave another sudden lurch; he made a wild grasp at the captain, missed him; another at Mr Denning's chair; and then sat down involuntarily on the deck, to look up ruefully at me, his eyes seeming to say, "Oh, how can you laugh!"

"All right, sir, not hurt, I hope?" said the captain, and he and the first mate helped our stout pa.s.senger to rise.

"No, not at all, thanks; sadly awkward though at first," he said, rather piteously. "Mr Dale--would you mind?"

I hurriedly offered him my arm, and he gave a quick look round.

"A little weak and giddy," he continued, with his eyes resting on Miss Denning, who held out her hand, and in a quiet sweet way, said--

"Yes, we have been rather unwell too. I turned quite giddy once."

Mr Denning looked at her angrily, and Mr Preddle shook hands very awkwardly before walking away with me, and as I helped him down the ladder, he said in a whisper--

"Are they all laughing at me? Look."

"Oh no," I said, after a hasty glance. "I'm afraid we were all very rude, but every one meets with these accidents at sea."

I fancied he muttered something about "disgraced," but he was very silent, and hardly noticed the men who touched their caps to him as we went forward, where he stayed with the fish for a few minutes, and lifted out a couple which lay floating wrong side up, with a tiny landing-net; and then walked back without me towards his cabin. I let him get nearly to the companion-way, and then ran after him with my face burning.

"I beg your pardon for laughing at you, Mr Preddle," I said.

He turned his piteous face toward me, and smiled in a simple, good-natured way, as he held out his hand.

"You couldn't help it," he said; "I suppose I did look very ridiculous.

It's because I'm so stout; p'r'aps being at sea will take it down."

He nodded and went on, leaving me thinking.

It was awkward, just too as he wanted to show how well he was. Then I started and looked round, for some one clapped me on the shoulder.

"You and Mr Preddle seem to be getting capital friends, Dale; how smart he had made himself look!"

"Yes, sir," I said; "but he had quite an accident on deck," and I looked half-smilingly in the young doctor's face, for it was he.

"Accident? Hurt?" he said, eagerly.

"Oh no, sir. He was going up to speak to Miss Denning and her brother, and the ship lurched, and he came down sitting."

"Oh!" said the doctor, and it struck me at the time that he looked rather pleased.

CHAPTER SIX.

The next morning broke bright and glorious. We were right away in the open sea now, going south before a brisk north-west breeze, which was just enough to make the water dance and glitter in the sunshine, as the Burgh Castle with a full press of sail careened gently over. While feeling fresh and eager, I thought how delightful the ocean looked, and was eager to see what the tropic waters would have to show.

"Here, Dale," said the captain, "this sort of thing won't do. Where's your messmate--Walters?"

"He's a little better this morning, sir, but not out of his bunk."

"You go down and tell him that if he is not up on deck in a quarter of an hour, I'll send two of the men down to fetch him."

"Yes, sir," and I went and delivered my message to the poor, miserable-looking, yellow-faced fellow, as he lay with his face screwed up, only half seen in his bunk.

"I don't care. Let him send if he dares. I can't get up. I'll complain to the owners. It's a cruel shame, and it's a wonder I haven't died, left neglected down here."

"That you haven't been," I cried; "why, I've regularly nursed you, and the steward couldn't have been kinder."

"Who said he could?" cried Walters, with plenty of animation now. "But where's the doctor? What's a doctor carried on a ship for if he isn't to attend to the sick people?"

"Oh, but you're not sick," I said.

"What?" he cried fiercely.

"Well, not now," I replied, laughing. "Of course you were, but you're only qualmy now. Here, this place does smell stuffy. I'll open the window."

"That you won't; I don't want to catch a bad cold. Wish I hadn't come to sea in such a miserable ship."

"Nonsense. Get up and dress."

"Shan't!"

"But you'd feel ever so much better."

"How do you know? You go and tell the captain he's a brute, and I'm not going to get up till I'm better."

"Not I. It would only be a lie," I said.

"What?"

"You are ever so much better. Shall I ask the steward to make you some tea?"

"No, I couldn't touch it, and he wouldn't make it if you did. This ain't a London hotel."

"Of course it isn't; but he'd make a cup if I asked him."

"No, he wouldn't. They're all brutes here."

"Look here," I cried, as I saw how argumentative he could be, and that if he roused himself up he'd be better, "if you don't jump into your trousers I'll be a brute too."

"What do you mean?" he said, sharply.

"I'll lay hold of one leg, and pull you out on to the floor."

"You dare to touch me, and I'll give you the biggest hiding you ever had in your life."

"Not you. Come, get up, or the skipper will send down two fellows to fetch you out."

"Let him at his peril," snarled my messmate, pulling the clothes higher.