"Mayn't I come on deck, sir?" he murmured anxiously. "Please, sir!"

"No," said Saltash.

Toby said no more, but his fingers fastened like a bird's claw on the
man's arm, and he shivered.

"You're frightened!" said Saltash.

"No, sir! No, sir!" he protested.

"Yes, you are. You needn't bother to lie to me. I always know." Saltash's
voice held an odd note of comradeship. "Beastly sensation, isn't it? Have
some more brandy!"

Then, as Toby refused, he sat down abruptly on the edge of the couch and
thrust an arm out to him. Toby crept to him then like a nervous dog and
trembled against his side.

"Little ass!" said Saltash again. "Been lying here sweating with terror,
have you? There's nothing whatever to sweat about. She's as safe as
houses."

"Yes, sir. I know, sir," whispered Toby apologetically.

Saltash's arm surrounded him with a comforting closeness. "You miserable
little shrimp!" he said. "How's the head?"

"Better, sir. Thank you, sir," muttered Toby.