Captain of the Crew

“Yes.”

The second figure came and leaned over him and he saw that it was Kirk.

“How are you feeling now, chum?” asked Dick, with all the old affection in his voice. Trevor felt his eyes growing moist, and he had to gulp twice before he could answer.

“All right, Dick; I think I can get up now.”

“Get up! Indeed, you’ll not. You’re to stay here to-night, and I’m going to stay with you. The others are getting ready to go back now; can you hear them?”

“Let’s see what the boy looks like,” said Kirk. “I’ll light the gas and give him his medicine.”

“Don’t, please don’t!” cried Trevor. It was all so much easier in the darkness.

“All right,” Kirk answered cheerfully. “I dare say it would hurt your eyes. But here’s the stuff. Open your mouth.”

Trevor obeyed, and after several misadventures the medicine was administered. Dick had seated himself on the side of the bed and had taken one of the other lad’s hands in his own.

“Trevor.”

“Yes?”

“A length and a third, old chap!”

Trevor sighed, and then, “I – I suppose it might have been worse, Dick?”

“Worse?” cried Dick. “What are you talking about? Why, we’re awfully proud of it, every one of us! Aren’t we, Mr. Kirk?”

“Yes, and we have good cause, I think. It was magnificent!”

“And, Trevor,” went on Dick in tones so full of happiness that Trevor wondered, “all the fellows want you to hurry up and get well; and we all cheered you at dinner till the plaster nearly fell on us!”

“Cheered me!” whispered Trevor. “Cheered me, Dick? Do you mean – do you mean that they – that you all forgive me?”

“Forgive you? What for? Because you were the pluckiest of any of us and did the brainiest sort of thing when you jumped overboard?”

“Because – oh, Dick, don’t you see? If I hadn’t been so bull-headed it wouldn’t have happened; if I’d owned up that I wasn’t feeling well you could have put another fellow in. But I heard Mr. Kirk telling about some fellow who had the fever and how it left him at noon; and I thought mine would, too; and so I went ahead, and – and it didn’t go away, but got worse every minute; I was all silly in my head. And – don’t you see, Dick, if I’d done right we wouldn’t have been beaten?”

There was a moment’s silence. Then —

“He doesn’t know!” said Kirk softly.

“By Jove!” whispered Dick. “Of course he doesn’t; how could he? Thunder, how stupid of me!” He laughed softly, happily. “Trevor, old chap, we weren’t beaten! Don’t you understand? We won!”

There was a second brief silence. Then —

“Won!” breathed Trevor, incredulously.

“Yes, by a length and a third. I told you, don’t you remember? But you didn’t understand.”

“You – you’re just saying it to – to make me feel better,” doubted Trevor.

“No, honestly, chum; we won. Mr. Kirk will tell you.”

“Yes, Nesbitt, we won finely; there’s no doubt about that. Listen.”

From below, through the open window, came the martial strains of a band; Trevor recognized the tune; it was “Hilltonians.” And then, faintly but distinctly, came a hoarse voice:

“Now, fellows! Once more! Three times three for Hillton!”

The music was blotted out by a mighty cheer that arose to the starlit sky in a roar of triumph. Trevor was glad of the darkness, for there were tears in his eyes that threatened every moment to overflow; but they were tears of happiness, and somehow those didn’t count.

“And – and they don’t mind that I – that I did what I did?” whispered Trevor. “They don’t hate me for it, Dick?”

“Hate you!” cried Dick. “Hark!”

Through the casement, a gray rectangle of twilight, the strained voice of the leader again floated:

“Now, fellows! Fellows! Once more for Nesbitt, and all together! One – two – ”

And while the hoarse, joyful cheers responded, and the bass-drum thumped triumphantly, Trevor, with his hand tightly clasped in Dick’s, laid his head back very contentedly upon the pillow.

THE END