Syd Belton Part 37

"I tell you I am," cried Syd, angrily. "What did you give Pan?"

"I didn't give him nothin', sir. I only showed him a rope's-end, and I says to him, 'Now look ye here, Pan-y-mar,' I says, 'if you aren't dressed and up and doing in quarter hour, here's your dose.'"

"Oh!" moaned Syd.

"And he never wanted to take it, Master Syd, for he was up on deck 'fore I said, and he haven't been bad since."

"How could you be such a brute, Barney?"

"Brute, lad? Why, it was a kindness. If I might serve you the same--"

"It would kill me," said Syd, angrily; and somehow his voice grew stronger.

"Kill yer! You'd take a deal more killing than you think for."

"No, I shouldn't. I'm nearly dead now."

"Nay, lad; you're as lively as a heel in fresh water. Capen sent me down to see how you was."

"He hasn't been to see me, Barney."

"Course he arn't, lad. Had enough to do looking arter the s.h.i.+p, for we've had a reg'lar snorer these last few days. Don't know when I've seen a rougher sea. Been quite a treat to a man who has been ash.o.r.e so long. See how the frigate behaved?"

"Did she, Barney?"

"Loverly. There, get up; and I'll go and tell the skipper you're all right again."

"But I tell you I'm not. I'm very, very bad."

"Not you, Master Syd."

"I am, I tell you."

"Not you, lad. Nothing the matter with you;" and Barney winked to himself.

"Look here," cried Syd, pa.s.sionately, as he jumped up in his hammock, "you're a stupid, obstinate old fool, so be off with you."

"And you're a mids.h.i.+pman, that's what you are, Master Syd, as thinks he's got the mumble-dumbles horrid bad, when it's fancy all the time."

"Do you want me to hit you, Barney?" cried Syd, angrily.

"Hit me? I should like you to do it, sir. Do you know I'm bo'sun of this here s.h.i.+p?"

"I don't care what you are," cried Syd. "You're an unfeeling brute. An ugly old idiot, that's what you are."

"Oh! am I, sir? Well, what do you call yerself--all yaller and huddled up like a sick monkey in a hurricane. Why, I'd make a better boy out of a s.h.i.+p's paddy and a worn-out swab."

Syd hit out at him with all his might, striking the bo'sun in the chest, but overbalancing himself so that he rolled out of the hammock, and would have fallen had not Barney caught him in his arms and planted him on the deck.

"Hoorray! Well done, Master Syd; now then, on with these here stockings, and jump into your breeches. I'll help you. On'y want a good wash and a breath o' fresh air, and then--look here, I'll get the cook to let you have a basin o' soup, and you'll be as right as a marlin-spike in a ball o' tow."

Syd was too weak to make much opposition. He had awakened to the fact after his fit of pa.s.sion that he really was not so bad as he thought.

The s.h.i.+p was not dancing about, and there was a bright ray of suns.h.i.+ne cutting the darkness outside the place where he lay, and once or twice he had inhaled a breath of sweet, balmy, summer-like air. Then, too, his head did not swim so much in an erect position, and he let Barney go on talking in his rough, good-humoured fas.h.i.+on, and help him on with some clothes; bring him a bowl of water in which he had a good wash; and when at last he was dressed and sitting back weak and helpless on the locker, the bo'sun said--

"Now, I was going to say have a whiff o' fresh air first, my lad; but you are a bit pulled down for want o' wittals. I'll speak to the cook now, and seeing who you are, I dessay he'll rig you up a mess of slops as 'll do you no end o' good."

"I couldn't touch anything, Barney."

"Yah, lad! you dunno. Said you couldn't get up, and here you are.

Think I can't manage you. Here, have another hit out at me."

"Oh, Barney, I am so sorry."

"Sorry be hanged, lad! I'm glad. You won't know yourself another hour."

"But--but I'm going to be sick again, Barney," gasped the invalid.

"That's a moral impossibility, my lad, as I werry well know. You sit still while I fetch you something to put in your empty locker. Didn't know I was such a doctor, did yer?"

Barney stepped out of the door, and went straight for the galley, leaving Syd leaning back in a corner feeling deathly sick, the perspiration standing cold upon his brow, and with an intense longing to lie down once more, and in profound ignorance of what will can do for a sea-sick patient after a certain amount of succ.u.mbing.

The threat of the rope's-end had finished Pan's bout. Something else was going to act as a specific for Syd's.

He had been seated there a few minutes when there was a light step, and a little figure appeared surmounted by the comically withered countenance of Jenkins.

"Hallo, Belton!" he cried. "Up again. Better?"

"No; I feel very ill."

"Never mind. You do look mouldy, though. Can I get you anything?"

"No; I couldn't touch a bit."

"Couldn't you? Keep your head to the wind, lad, and get well. Old Mike Terry's getting horrid saucy again, so look sharp and bung him up."

The little fellow popped up on deck, and took the news, with the effect that Bolton came and said a word of congratulation, and he was followed by Roylance.

"Oh, I am glad, old fellow," cried the latter. "You've had a nasty bout. But, I say, your eyes are all right again, and the swelling's gone from your lip."

"Has it?" said Syd, feebly, as if nothing mattered now.

"Yes; you'll very soon come round. We've run down with a rush before that nor'-easter, and we're getting into lovely summer weather. Coming on deck?"

"Too weak."

"Not you. Do you good. But I must go back on deck. Regular drill on."

He hurried away, and Syd was leaning back utterly prostrated, when there was another step, and he opened his eyes to see that the figure which darkened the door was that of Terry, who came into the low dark place, and stood looking down at his late antagonist with a sneering contemptuous smile which was increased to a laugh.