It is true that in further interviews Bunter showed himself very
mild and deferential. He seemed to cling to his captain for spiritual
protection. He used to send for him, and say, "I feel so nervous," and
Captain Johns would stay patiently for hours in the hot little cabin,
and feel proud of the call.

For Mr. Bunter was ill, and could not leave his berth for a good many
days. He became a convinced spiritualist, not enthusiastically--that
could hardly have been expected from him--but in a grim, unshakable way.
He could not be called exactly friendly to the disembodied inhabitants
of our globe, as Captain Johns was. But he was now a firm, if gloomy,
recruit of spiritualism.

One afternoon, as the ship was already well to the north in the Gulf
of Bengal, the steward knocked at the door of the captain's cabin, and
said, without opening it:

"The mate asks if you could spare him a moment, sir. He seems to be in a
state in there."

Captain Johns jumped up from the couch at once.

"Yes. Tell him I am coming."

He thought: Could it be possible there had been another spiritual
manifestation--in the daytime, too!

He revelled in the hope. It was not exactly that, however. Still,
Bunter, whom he saw sitting collapsed in a chair--he had been up