Jimmie's face was a study.
"You said it was blood, Jimmie," I said.
"Well, you said it hurt," he retorted.
"Well, it did. When you said I was covered with blood it hurt
awfully."
The doctor went out much chagrined that he had not been called upon to
sew up a wound. I had a relapse, brought on by young Bashforth's
jeering remarks as he frantically clung to the handles of the locker
which formed the back of the settee where he lay prostrate.
I was too utterly done up to reply, for two days' violent seasickness
rather takes the mental ginger out of one's make-up. But Fate avenged
me in this wise. The door of my state-room opened into the
dining-room, and my bed faced the door. Opposite to me was the settee
on which Bashforth was coiled, and back of him was the locker for the
tinned mushrooms, sardines, lobster, shrimp, caviar, deviled ham, and
all the things which well people can eat. This locker had brass
handles let into the mahogany, and to these handles the poor fellow
clung when the yacht lurched.
His cruel words of derision had hardly left his pale lips before they
tacked again.
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