hand to his lips, gazing
at the half-conscious man.

For three days Mr. Bunter did not say a single word. He looked at people
sensibly enough but did not seem to be able to hear any questions put
to him. They cut off some more of his hair and swathed his head in
wet cloths. He took some nourishment, and was made as comfortable as
possible. At dinner on the third day the second mate remarked to the
captain, in connection with the affair:

"These half-round brass plates on the steps of the poop-ladders are
beastly dangerous things!"

"Are they?" retorted Captain Johns, sourly. "It takes more than a brass
plate to account for an able-bodied man crashing down in this fashion
like a felled ox."

The second mate was impressed by that view. There was something in that,
he thought.

"And the weather fine, everything dry, and the ship going along as
steady as a church!" pursued Captain Johns, gruffly.

As Captain Johns continued to look extremely sour, the second mate did
not open his lips any more during the dinner. Captain Johns was annoyed
and hurt by an innocent remark, because the fitting of the aforesaid
brass plates had been done at his suggestion only the voyage before, in
order to smarten up the appearance of the poop-ladders.

On the fourth day Mr. Bunter looked decidedly better; very languid yet,
of course, but he heard and understood what was said to him, and even
could say a few words in a feeble voice.

Captain Johns, coming in, contemplated him attentively, without much
visible sympathy.

"Well, can you give us your account of this accident, Mr. Bunter?"

Bunter moved slightly his bandaged head, and fixed his cold blue stare
on Captain Johns' face, as if taking stock and appraising the value of
every feature; the perplexed forehead, the credulous eyes, the inane
droop of the mouth. And he gazed so long that Captain Johns grew
restive, and looked over his shoulder at the door.

"No accident," breathed out Bunter, in a peculiar tone.

"You don't mean to say you've got the falling sickness," said Captain
Johns. "How would you call it signing as chief mate of a clipper ship
with a thing like that on you?"

Bunter answered him only by a sinister look. The skipper shuffled his
feet a little.

"Well, what made you have that tumble, then?"

Bunter raised himself a little, and, looking straight into Captain
Johns' eyes said, in a very distinct whisper:

"You--were--right!"

He fell back and closed hi