Chapter 64
"What a shame! Upsetting everybody, and turning the gentlemen out of their place. I say, you can't have had dinner here, sir."
"No, Ned."
"'Shamed of myself. I don't know how time's gone. Been asleep.
Dreaming like mad, and--Heigho! ha--hum! Hark at that, sir, for a yawn.
Never put my hand before my mouth. I say, what about the n.i.g.g.e.rs?"
"We are far out at sea, Ned," whispered Jack.
"Good job. I don't know though. I hope we shall go and give 'em an awful thras.h.i.+ng. We didn't interfere with them. Coming and shotting their arrows at us behind our backs. I say, Mr Jack, don't you get one in you. My word, how it does make you dream--all the awfullest nonsense you could imagine. I should like to tell you, but it's all mixed up so.
I say, I fainted, didn't I?"
"Yes."
"I remember; up there in the wood. I felt myself going like a great gal. Just as I did once when I was a boy. How rum! That was through an arrow. I used to make myself bows and arrows, and I was making a deal arrow, and smoothing it with a bit of gla.s.s, when the bit broke and I cut my finger awful, and turned sick, and down I went.--I say, Mr Jack."
"Yes, Ned," said the lad in a voice full of pity.
"I can't recollect a bit after that. How did you yet me down to the boat?"
"The men carried you."
"One to them. My turn next. Good lads. Then you rowed out to the yacht."
"Yes, Ned."
"Yacht! I wish I could spell yacht when I write a letter home ready for posting first chance. I always get the letters mixed up. But I say, Mr Jack, this won't do! I say, would you mind giving me a bit of a pull? I could walk to my berth. This is luxurious, this is. Me on the cabin couch, and you waiting on me. Here, I feel like a rich lord. Now pull."
"No, no, Ned; lie still."
"I say, don't you get taking on like that, Mr Jack, sir," said the man earnestly. "That is being chicken-'arted. I'm all right. These two holes in my arm don't burn so; don't burn at all. Feel as if I hadn't got no arm that side. But I say, what's the matter?"
"Oh, Ned, my poor fellow!"
"Here, I say, Mr Jack, sir! Don't--don't, please. I say, I have upset you; but--Here,
"No, Ned, you are quite sensible now."
"No, I ain't, sir; I can't be, because things seem to be going backward.
'Tain't the moon, is it? because it's getting light instead of dark."
"Yes, Ned, the sun will soon rise."
"What! Don't play--No, you wouldn't do that. Sun rise? Why, I ain't been lying here all night, sir?"
"Yes, Ned."
"Well, my lad, how are you?" said Doctor Instow. "I thought I heard you speaking."
"Morning, sir. You're up early, sir. Won't want calling."
"No, I shall not want calling this morning, Ned. How are you?"
"About all right, sir, only I don't seem to have no arm. Oh, Mr Jack-- Sir John!" cried the man wildly as his master entered the cabin, and he turned his head with a s.h.i.+ver from his injured limb, "you ain't let him do that, have you, while I've been asleep?"
"Do what, Ned?" said Jack in a soothing voice.
"Take a fellow's arm off, sir."
"No, no, Ned, my lad," said the doctor, laying his hand upon his patient's forehead. "It feels numb and dead from the wound."
"Then--then it isn't off?" cried the poor fellow with a gasp. "Oh, thank goodness! It give me quite a turn, sir, and I was afraid to look."
"You're better, Ned, and coming round fast," said the doctor, as a warm glow of light began to illumine the cabin, driving away the shadows of that terrible night.
"Oh yes, sir, I'm all right," said the wounded man, speaking more strongly now. Then in quite an apologetic tone, "Not quite all right, Sir John; you see, there's my arm. Sorry to have give so much trouble, Sir John; but you see, it wasn't quite my fault."
"Ah, lie still, you rascal!" said the doctor, as the man made an attempt to rise.
"Yes, don't move, Edward," said Sir John warmly. "I am very very thankful to see you so much better."
"Thankye, Sir John. It's very good of you to say so. But I can't stop here in your way. Seems as if I was shamming ill like so as to get waited on: and if there's anything I hate it's that. Don't seem nat'ral, Mr Jack, sir."
"Now lie still and be silent," said the doctor sharply. "Your tongue's running nineteen to the dozen, and it will not do your arm any good."
"But really, sir," protested Ned, "if you'd put on a couple of good round pieces of sticking-plaster, and let me wear it in a sling for a day or two, it would be all right."
"Will you hold your tongue, sir, hang you!" cried the doctor sharply.
"I'd better put a bit of sticking-plaster on that. Do you think I want you to teach me my profession as a surgeon?"
"No, sir; beg pardon, sir."
"Silence, sir!"
Ned screwed up his mouth and his eyes as well. "Now, Jack, my lad,"
said the doctor, "I can't afford to have you ill too. Go to your room, undress and get into bed."
"Doctor! Now?"
"Yes, my lad, now. You went through a terrible day of excitement yesterday, and you have not stirred from this poor fellow's side all night."
"Mr Jack, sir! Oh!" cried Ned in a voice full of reproach.
"Look here, Ned," said the doctor, "if you say another word I'll give you a draught that will send you to sleep for twelve hours.--Now, Jack, my lad, do as I advise. Believe it is for your good. Go and sleep as long as you can. Never mind about it's being daylight. Ned is quite out of danger, and in a few days, when the poison is quite eliminated, he will be himself again."
At the words "danger" and "poison" the man's eyes opened wonderingly, and he looked at Sir John and his young master in turn.
"Yes, Jack, my lad, go."