perhaps. If people are rude to me I don't get hurt. I just give them a
good shaking and forget it. Besides, I couldn't get cross with anyone
for being ill, could I? And I'm going to make you get better before we
get to Sydney."

He shook his head hopelessly.

"I mean it. I am going to keep worrying you about it till you stop it
dead. I'll make it seem a dreadful nuisance to you."

"It may work," he said slowly, impressed by her certainty. "So long as
we're on the ship. If you can keep me from the Ole Fred gang. But it'll
be all up when we get to Sydney and you leave me."

"Well then, I'll stay in Sydney," she said, making up her mind casually.
"I'll tell uncle I don't want to go and live with him. I'll find some
way of staying with you."

"I say, do you mean it?" he cried. "After my rudeness?"

"Of course I mean it. It will be fun! I love a fight!"

"And you mean that you really care about me?"

"Of course I care! I believe I'll die if you don't get better," she said
eagerly.

He fumbled in his pockets, lit several matches and put something in her
hand.