Steve Young Part 29

"Highly creditable, upon my word!" cried Captain Marsham, frowning.

"Could not you find anything more sensible to do than to get into this disgraceful quarrel with the ship's boy?"

Steve stood breathing hard, flushed with anger and mortification.

"I'd try a sweep next time, Stephen," said the doctor sarcastically; "he would not come off worse upon you than this fellow has done."

"He insulted and struck me," stammered Steve. "You would not have had me stand still and submit to that, sir?"

"I don't want to hear anything about it," said the captain sternly; "it is disgraceful, and I gave you credit for knowing better."

The captain walked back to the companion hatch and descended to the cabin, leaving Steve, the doctor, Hamish, and Andrew looking at each other.

"Well, sir," said the doctor, "you've done it this time. Have you any idea what an object you look?"

"No," said Steve, in a tone of voice which told of his mortification.

"Go to your cabin, then, and look in the gla.s.s. I should prescribe a little water, too!"

"Hadn't I better jump overboard for it, then?" cried Steve bitterly.

"Bah! Rubbish! Don't talk nonsense!" cried the doctor, catching the lad by the arm.

"Why, what's the matter?" said the mate, coming up hurriedly.

"Oh, nothing much. We've had an accident, and spilt some feathers about the deck, and it has made the captain angry about the way in which it was done. Have them cleared up, man. Come along, Steve lad; and don't look like that," he whispered, as he half dragged the lad away.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

MORAL SURGERY.

"How easy it is to get into trouble!" said Steve; "and what a watch one has to keep over one's self! There I was, as happy and contented as could be, only a little while ago, and now everything's miserable. I wouldn't care if the captain had not spoken to me like that."

"Go and tell him you're sorry," said the doctor.

"I can't."

"But you must, my lad. You were in the wrong, weren't you?"

"I don't think so. It was all a bit of fun. I never expected that the boy would turn like that."

"Well, wasn't it foolish of you to go making a playmate of such a rough, common lad? I'm not sn.o.bbish, Steve, but I think people get on better who make friends in their own cla.s.s; and if your poor father could have seen you fighting a--"

"Oh, don't, don't!" cried Steve, "pray! I know I behaved like a blackguard, and it served me right."

"There, now you're behaving like a human donkey, my lad, and talking nonsense. Put it aside now. You're hot and excited. Let me give you a sedative draught."

"Oh, Mr Hands...o...b..!" cried the lad pa.s.sionately. "To talk of physic at a time like this!"

"There you go again!" cried the doctor, unconsciously using Watty Links's expression. "You've made your blood boil, and it wants cooling down."

"Then I'll drink some water or suck a lump of ice," said Steve bitterly.

"I can't take physic now."

"Nonsense, you excitable young donkey!" cried the doctor. "I meant a mental sedative draught. I want you to hear reason, if you will listen to me."

"I don't want to listen; I only want to be alone, sir."

"Yes, to get into a stupid, morbid state, when a little bit of brave surgery--moral surgery--on your part would set all right."

"There _you_ go again, sir!" cried Steve querulously. "One minute you want to give me pills and a draught, the next you want to begin cutting me to pieces."

The doctor burst out laughing.

"That's right," cried Steve, "laugh at me; I deserve it;" and at that moment he wished that he was a little child again, so that he could go and hide himself away, and relieve his feelings by crying fit to break his heart. But he did not say to himself "cry"; he put it as "blubber like a great girl."

"Be quiet, my lad; and, believe me, I can feel for you and want to help you. I'm a doctor, and I talked metaphorically, as, of course, you know. By moral surgery I meant one brave bit of mastery over self, and cutting the trouble right out. There's no hiding the fact; you, as a gentleman's son, ought not to have been found fighting with the ship's boy, and under such ludicrous circ.u.mstances; now, ought you?"

"No, I suppose not," replied Steve; "but--"

"Never mind the 'buts,' my lad. You own that you are in the wrong?"

"Yes."

"Then go and wash your face and brush all that fluff off your jacket.

Then pluck up, and like a man go in to the captain; keep cool--you'll be cooler by that time--and tell him exactly how it all was; say you are sorry, and--Don't keep on shaking your head like that, sir; you'll be doing some injury to your spinal column."

"But I can't go and tell him that, after the way in which he looked and spoke to me."

"Yes, you can, sir."

"No."

"There you go, shaking your head again. Tell him you were in the wrong."

"That I'll be a good boy, and won't do so any more."

"Well, is there anything to be ashamed of in that, sir?"

"I couldn't do it--I wouldn't do it."

"Then you're a coward."

"No, I'm not," retorted Steve angrily.

"You are--a miserable moral coward; and I thought you had more pluck in you--more of the honest, manly pluck of an English boy who is brave enough to own to a fault."

"I'm not a coward," muttered Steve. "I'd show you if there was any occasion," and he stood frowning.