From the moment
when Ferrier groaned with despair, a lightning thought shot into
Marion's brain and settled there. She had a grand idea, and she was
almost eager to get ashore: one indefinite attraction alone held her.
Ferrier was almost as eager to return, for his electric nature was
chafed by the limitations that bound him; he knew he could do nothing
without further means and appliances, and, in the meantime, he was only
half doing work of supreme importance. He wished to glance slightly at
the social and spiritual work of the fleet, but his heart was in his own
trade.
The weather held up nicely, and on the morning after Ferrier saved the
broken-ribbed youngster, the schooner had a rare crowd on board. The men
tumbled over the side with lumbering abandonment, and met each other
like schoolboys who gather in the common-room after a holiday. As Blair
said, they were like a lot of Newfoundland puppies. Poor Tom Betts came
up among the roistering crowd--pale, weary, and with that strange,
disquieting smile which flits over sick men's faces; he was received as
an interesting infant, and his narratives concerning the marvellous
skill of the doctor were enough to supply the fleet with gossip for a
month. None of the "weeds" of the fleet were on board, and the assembly
might be taken as representing the pick of the North Sea population.
With every observant faculty on the stretch Ferrier strolled from group
to group, chatting with man after man; no one was in the least familiar,
but the doctor was struck with the simple cordiality of all the fellows.
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