Hurricane Island. Henry Brereton Marriott Watson
months, anyway. Now, doctor, we want a doctor."
He laughed, as if this had been a joke, and I stared at him. "You mean," said I slowly, "that I might apply."
"If it's worth your while," said he. "You know best."
"Well, I don't know about that," I replied. "It depends on a good many things."
All the same I knew that I did know best. The whole of my discontent, latent and seething for years, surged up in me. Here was the wretched practice by which I earned a miserable pittance, bad food, and low company. On the pleasure yacht I should at least walk among equals, and feel myself a civilised being. I could dispose of my goodwill for a small sum, and after twelve months—well, something might turn up. At any rate, I should have a year's respite, a year's holiday.
I looked across at the purser of the Sea Queen, with his good-looking, easy-natured face, his sleek black hair, and his rather flabby white face, and still I hesitated.
"I can make it a dead bird," he said, wagging his head, "and you'll find it pretty comfortable."
"Where are you going? The Mediterranean?" I asked.
"I haven't the least idea," he said with a frank yawn. "But if your tickets are all right you can bet on the place."
"I'm agreeable," I said, in a matter-of-fact voice.
"Good man!" said he, with some of his former sparkle of interest. "And now we'll have another to toast it, and then I must be off."
"Don't you think you'd better stay here the night?" I asked. "I can put you up. And the fog's thicker."
"Thanks, old man," he replied with easy familiarity, "I would like a roost, only I've got an engagement. I wired to some one, you know." And he winked at me wickedly.
"Very well," said I. "If you have an appointment, I would suggest that we leave over the toast."
"You're right," he said ingenuously. "But it was a nasty bath. All serene. I'll fix that up. By the way," he paused on his road to the door, "I haven't your name."
"Nor I yours," I answered. "Mine's Richard Phillimore."
"Mine's Lane," he said. "Qualified?"
"M.B. London," I replied.
"Good for you. That'll make it easier. I suppose I can go in your togs."
"You're welcome," I said, "though they don't fit you very well."
"Oh, I'm a bit smaller than you, I know, but all cats are grey in the dark, and it's infernally dark to-night! Well, so long, and I'm much obliged to you, I'm sure."
He swung out of the door with his free gait, and I stopped him.
"One word more. Who's your owner?"
"The boss? Oh, Morland—Morland, a regular millionaire."
With that he was gone.
CHAPTER II
In the "Three Tuns"
The next day I had a full round of visits to make, so that I had little time to think over the adventure of the previous evening. On Saturday I made my way, as usual, to the West End, and spent the afternoon in luxury, basking in the renewal of my self-respect. I had leisure then to reflect, and, although the more I considered the less appeared the likelihood of any advantage to myself derivable out of Lane's promise, yet I allowed myself the satisfaction of certain inquiries. No one in the club had heard of Morland, the millionaire, and the Sea Queen was unknown to my yachting friends. Moreover, no Morland appeared in the "Court Guide." Still, it was quite possible, even probable, that he was an American; so that omission did not abash me. It was only when I rehearsed the circumstances in bald terms that I doubted to the point of incredulity. I had fished up a tipsy fellow, of a loose good-nature, who, under the stimulus of more whisky, had probably at the best offered more than he was entitled to do, and who, at the worst, had long since forgotten all about his Good Samaritan. The situation seemed easy of interpretation, and in the warmth of my pleasant intercourse with my companions I presently ceased to ponder it.
Yet, when I arrived at my house and opened the letter that awaited me, I will confess that I experienced a thrill of hope. It was from Hills, a firm of solicitors in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and, premising that I was a candidate for the post of doctor in the SS. Sea Queen, requested me to call on Monday at three o'clock. This looked, so to speak, like business, and I attended at the address with my mind made up and clear. If I was offered the position I would take it, and so cut my cable.
I had to wait some time in an ante-room, but presently was ushered into the presence of one of the partners, an amiable, business-like man, with the air of a country squire.
"Dr. Phillimore?" he queried introductively, and I assented.
"Please sit down, will you. You are anxious to take position of doctor on the Sea Queen." He consulted some note before him. "I see. Your name has been mentioned to my client in this connection. I assume you are fully qualified?"
I told him the facts and referred him to the "Medical Year-Book." "Moreover," I added, "I have no doubt, if a recommendation were necessary, Sir John Wemyss, of Harley Street, would be willing to write to you."
"Sir John Wemyss," he echoed reflectively. "Oh, yes, the cancer man. Let me see, he was President, wasn't he, of the College of Surgeons?"
"Yes, some years ago," I answered.
"A good man," he declared with a friendly air of patronage. "Well, I don't suppose there would be any difficulty on that score if Sir John will write. My client is a prudent man, and would naturally like to have the best advice available. Moreover, he is quite willing to pay for it. There is, of course, that question," and he looked at me as if inviting my suggestion.
I laughed. "Really I have no views, only that naturally I should like as large a salary as is compatible with the circumstances."
"Very well, Dr. Phillimore," said he, nodding. "I daresay we can arrange that too. You are young yet, and the position might lead–" He broke off, as the baize door on his left opened noiselessly. "What is it, Pye?"
The clerk bent down and whispered to him. "Oh, very well! It's opportune in a way. Will you ask Mr. Morland to be good enough to come in?"
The little clerk went out with his neat walk, and the solicitor rose. "I shall be able to introduce you to my client, who is the owner of the Sea Queen," he said, with a certain change of voice, and quickly went forward to the outer door.
"How do you do, Mr. Morland?" he exclaimed, with a cheerful deference, such as was due to the presence of wealth. "I was just engaged on a little matter of yours. I hope you came right up. These dull offices go so much by routine. It was the question of a doctor, sir."
As he spoke he indicated me, and for the first time I saw Mr. Morland.
He was a man of thirty-five, of middle height, slightly disposed to stoutness, but with a fine carriage, and with a bronzed, good-looking face, rendered heavier for the dull expression of his blue eyes. His hair, which was short and worn en brosse, after a foreign fashion, was straw-yellow.
"Is it the doctor?" he asked, after a glance at me, and though he spoke excellent English, there was also something a little foreign in his accent.
"Well, sir, we haven't reached that point yet," said the lawyer, smiling. "This is Dr. Phillimore, whom you wished me to–"
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Morland, and he put out a hand mechanically. "You will arrange it," he said to the other, with an air of command.
"Most certainly, sir, but I thought you would like to see, being on the spot–"
"No, there is only one thing. You know anything of throats?" he asked suddenly.
I told him I had studied under a specialist at the hospital, as it happened. In these days we doctors are compelled to take special courses in order to keep march with the times.
"That is right," he said, nodding, and the smile that came upon his face turned the eyes bluer. He looked quite handsome. "We must all keep step with the times. I will look to you to arrange it," he added again