"No, no, I want you," he cried sharply.
"Then I'll say good-morning," said the captain, smiling at Miss Denning.
"I only wanted to say I was glad to see you on deck, sir."
"Thank you, captain; but don't go. I can't help being a bit irritable;
I've had so much to do with doctors that I hate them."
"John, dear!"
"Well, so I do, Lena. I was dying for want of some fresh air, and as
soon as I get on deck, captain, down swoops the doctor as if he were a
vulture and I was so much carrion."
"Oh, come, come, my lad, you won't talk like that when you've been on
deck a bit. Nothing like fresh air, sir. Keep yourself warm, though,
and we mustn't have you wet."
"Now, captain, don't, pray," cried the invalid.
"All right, then, I won't. Look here, then. If it gets too rough, come
into my cabin and have a cigar and a chat. You won't mind a little
smoke, my dear?"
"Oh no, Captain Berriman; not at all."
"That's right. You know where my cabin is, and don't you mind me
calling you my dear. I've got three girls at home as old or older than
you, and a son as big as Mr Denning."
Miss Denning smiled in his face, while I felt as if I wished he would be
as fatherly with me.
"Look here," he continued, with a twinkle of the eye. "I've just had a
telegram from old Neptune. He says the gale's pretty well over, and
he's going to give us some fine weather now. He was obliged to blow up
a bit because the waves were getting sulky and idle, and the winds were
all gone to sleep."
It did not seem like the same man who was so fierce with the sailor a
short time before.
"And look here, Mr Denning," he continued, turning back after taking a
few steps toward the man at the wheel; "you're quite right, sir; pitch
the doctor overboard, and I'll prescribe for you. I've got a bottle or
two of prime port wine and burgundy on board,--you understand? And as
soon as the weather mends you must try some fishing; I dare say I can
fit you up, and young Dale here will lend a hand."
"Oh yes," I said eagerly.
"And don't know anything about it, eh?"