Part 36 (2/2)
”Is that you, bo'sun?”
”Ay, ay, my lad; me it is. Come, rouse and bit.”
”I couldn't, Barney,” said Syd, feebly. ”The very thought of a bit of anything makes me feel worse.”
”Yah! not it; and I didn't mean eat; I meant turn out, have a good wash, and dress, and come on deck.”
”I should die if I tried.”
”Die, lad? What, you? Any one would think you was ill.”
”I am, horribly.”
”Yah! nonsense! On'y squirmy. Weather's calming down now, and you'll be all right.”
”No, Barney; never any more,” sighed Syd. ”I say.”
”Ay, my lad. What is it?”
”Will they bury me at sea, Barney?”
”Haw--haw--haw!” laughed the bo'sun. ”He thinks he's going to die!
Why, Master Syd, I did think you had a better heart.”
”You don't know how ill I am,” said the boy, feebly.
”Yes I do, zackly. I've seen lots bad like you, on'y it arn't bad, but doing you good.”
”No, Barney; you don't know,” said Syd, a little more forcibly.
”Why, you haven't been so bad as my Pan-y-mar was till I cured him.”
”Did you cure him?” said Syd, beginning to take more interest in the bo'sun's words.
”Ay, my lad, in quarter of an hour.”
”Do you think you could cure me, Barney? I don't want to die just yet.”
”On'y hark at him.”
”But do you think you could cure me?”
”Course I could, my lad; but I mustn't. You've get the doctor to see you. Don't he do you no good?”
”No, Barney; he only laughed at me--like you did.”
”'Nough to make him, lad. You're not bad.”
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