Part 6 (1/2)

”Fifteen, eight----” said the doctor.

My father's voice changed ominously. ”Is you listenin', zur?” he asked.

”Sick, is she?” said the doctor. ”Fifteen, ten. I've got you, Jagger, sure ... 'Tis no fit night for a man to go ash.o.r.e ... Fifteen, ten, did I say? and one for his nibs ... Go fetch her aboard, man ... And two for his heels----”

My father laid his hand over the doctor's cards. ”Was you sayin',” he asked, ”t' fetch her aboard?”

”The doctor struck the hand away.

”Was you sayin',” my father quietly persisted, ”t' fetch her aboard?”

I knew my father for a man of temper; and, now, I wondered that his patience lasted.

”Damme!” the doctor burst out. ”Think I'm going ash.o.r.e in this weather?

If you want me to see her now, go fetch her aboard.”

My father coughed--then fingered the neck-band of his s.h.i.+rt.

”I wants t' get this here clear in my mind,” he said, slowly. ”Is you askin' me t' fetch that sick woman aboard this here s.h.i.+p?”

The doctor leaned over the table to spit.

”Has I got it right, zur?”

In the pause the spectators softly withdrew to the further end of the cabin.

”If he won't fetch her aboard, Jagger,” said the doctor, turning to the dog's master, ”she'll do very well, I'll be bound, till we get back from the north. Eh, Jagger? If he cared very much, he'd fetch her aboard, wouldn't he?”

Jagger laughed.

”Ay, she'll do very well,” the doctor repeated, now addressing my father, ”till we get back. I'll take a look at her then.”

I saw the color rush into my father's face. Skipper Tommy laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

”Easy, now, Skipper David!” he muttered.

”Is I right,” said my father, bending close to the doctor's face, ”in thinkin' you says you _won't_ come ash.o.r.e?”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

”Is I right,” pursued my father, his voice rising, ”in thinkin' the gov'ment pays you t' tend the sick o' this coast?”

”That's my business,” flashed the doctor. ”That's my business, sir!”

Jagger looked upon my father's angry face and smiled.

”Is we right, doctor,” said Skipper Tommy, ”in thinkin' you knows she lies desperate sick?”

”Damme!” cried the doctor. ”I've heard that tale before. You're a pretty set, you are, to try to play on a man's feelings like that. But you can't take _me_ in. No, you can't,” he repeated, his loose under-lip trembling. ”You're a pretty set, you are. But you can't come it over me.

Don't you go bl.u.s.tering, now! You can't come your bl.u.s.ter on me.