"I've made a hit with her," he confided. "Since she's learned I'm
a graduate M.D., she's letting me do the whole thing. I've made up
some lotions to prevent sunburn, and that seasick prescription of
old Larimer's, and she thinks I'm the whole cheese. I'll suggest
you as ships doctor."
"How many men in the crew?"
"Eight, I think, or ten. It's a small boat, and carries a small
crew."
"Then they don't want a ship's doctor. If I go, I'll go as a
sailor," I said firmly. "And I want your word, Mac, not a word
about me, except that I am honest."
"You'll have to wash decks, probably."
"I am filled with a wild longing to wash decks," I asserted, smiling
at his disturbed face. "I should probably also have to polish brass.
There's a great deal of brass on the boat."
"How do you know that?"
When I told him, he was much excited, and, although it was dark and
the Ella consisted of three lights, he insisted on the opera-glasses,
and was persuaded he saw her. Finally he put down the glasses and
came over, to me.
"Perhaps you are right, Leslie," he said soberly. "You don't want
charity, any more than they want a ship's doctor. Wherever you go
and whatever you do, whether you're swabbing decks in your bare feet
or polishing brass railings with an old sock, you're a man.
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