Star-cunning

“Lymond! You’ve got him?”

Repressively, Lymond himself answered. “I dislike being discussed as if I were a disease. Nobody ‘got’ me,” he said.

‘Oh thank you, thank you, sir,’ cried Babbington, suffused with joy. It was not wholly unexpected (he had bought one of Nicolls’s coats on the off-chance), but it had been far from certain. Braithwaite, the other senior midshipman (who had bought two coats, two waistcoats, two pair of breeches) had as good a claim to the step; and some sharp words had passed between Babbington and his captain at Madeira (‘This ship is not a floating brothel, sir’), sharper still about relieving the watch in time. It was an exquisite moment, and the kind words with which Jack finished - ‘shaping well - responsible, officerlike - should feel as easy with Babbington keeping a watch as any officer on the ship’ - brought tears to Babbington’s eyes. Yet in the midst of his joy his heart smote him, and pausing at the door after the usual acknowledgements he turned and said, in a faltering voice, ‘You are so very kind to me, sir - always have been - that it seems a blackguardly thing. You might not have done it, if … but I did not exactly lie, however.’

‘Eh?’ cried Jack, astonished. In time it appeared that Babbington had eaten of the Doctor’s rats; and that he was sorry now. ‘Why, no, Babbington,’ said Jack. ‘No. That was an infernal shabby thing to do; mean and very like a scrub. The Doctor has been a good friend to you - none better. Who patched up your arm, when they all swore it must come off? Who put you into his cot and sat by you all night, holding the wound? Who - ’ Babbington could not bear it; he burst into tears. Though an acting-lieutenant he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and through his sobs he gave Jack to understand that unknown hands had wafted these prime millers into the larboard midshipmen’s berth; that although he had had no hand in their cutting-out - indeed, would have prevented it, having the greatest love for the Doctor, so much so that he had fought Braithwaite over a chest for calling the Doctor ‘a Dutch-built quizz’ - yet, the rats being already dead, and dressed with onion-sauce, and he so hungry after rattling down the shrouds, he had thought it a pity to let the others scoff the lot. Had lived with a troubled conscience ever since: had in fact expected a summons to the cabin.

But I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you Stephen. I have been so lonely, and you were in my mind, as clear as a bell, just before I saw you. You are no great shakes at eating in the Indian way, I see… Oh my God, what have you done with your poor hands?”

“It is of no consequence,” said Stephen, darting them out of sight. “They were injured- caught in a machine. It is of no consequence; it will soon pass.