“You’re wanted, Frank,” said the solicitor. “When he calls me doctor, I’ll go,” said the other, stiffly. “_Cook!_” bawled the second officer. “_Cook!_ COOK!” He came running forward, his face red and angry, and his fist doubled. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” he demanded, fiercely. “I’ve been promoted,” said Carson, sweetly. “I’m ship’s surgeon now.” “Come down below at once, or I’ll take you there by the scruff of your neck,” vociferated the other. “You’re not big enough, little man,” said the doctor, still smiling. “Well, well, lead the way, and we’ll see what we can do.” He followed the speechless second officer below, and found the boy’s description of the first officer’s state as moonlight unto sunlight, as water unto wine. Even the second officer was appalled at the spectacle, and ventured a protest. “Gie me something at once,” yelled Mr. Mackenzie. “Do you wish me to undertake your case?” inquired the doctor, suavely. Mr. Mackenzie said that he did, in seven long, abusive, and wicked sentences. “My fee is half a guinea,” said the doctor, softly, “poor people who cannot afford more, mates and the like, I sometimes treat for less.” “I’ll die first,” howled the mate; “you won’t get any money out of me.” “Very good,” said the doctor, and rose to depart. “Bring him back, Rogers,” yelled the mate; “don’t let him go.” But the second officer, with a strange awesome look in his eyes, was leaning back in his seat, tightly gripping the edge of the table in both hands. “Come, come,” said the doctor, cheerily—“what’s this? You mustn’t be ill, Rogers. I want you to nurse these other two.” The other rose slowly to his feet and eyed him with lack-lustre eyes. “Tell the third officer to take charge,” he said, slowly; “and if he’s to be nurse as well, he’s got his hands full.” The doctor sent the boy to apprise the third officer of his responsibilities, and then stood watching the extraordinary and snakelike convolutions of Mr. Mackenzie. “How much—did—ye say?” hissed the latter. “Poor people,” repeated the doctor, with relish, “five shillings a visit; very poor people, half a crown.” “I’ll have half a crown’s worth,” moaned the miserable mate. “Mr. Mackenzie,” said a faint voice from the skipper’s cabin. “Sir?” yelled the mate, who was in torment. “Don’t answer me like that, sir,” said the skipper, sharply. “Will you please to remember that I’m ill, and can’t bear that horrible noise you’re making?” “I’m—ill—too,” gasped the mate. “Ill? Nonsense!” said the skipper, severely. “We can’t both be ill. How about the ship?” There was no reply, but from another cabin the voice of Mr. Rogers was heard calling wildly for medical aid, and offering impossible sums in exchange for it. The doctor went from cabin to cabin, and, first collecting his fees, administered sundry potions to the sufferers; and then, in his capacity of cook, went forward and made an unsavory mess he called gruel, which he insisted upon their eating.