fore the reporter could totter as far as the mate's cabin and see his comrade.
The pilot's leathery face was strangely bleached, and he could no more than whisper with a faltering huskiness:
"God bless their poor souls. They was all neighbors of mine. Hello, Jimmy Arbutus, have you begun to write that piece for the paper? There's something wrong with my insides. I think I busted some of 'em when we was jammed in that hatch. Well, we're going home, my son. Are you all taut again?"
Wilson tried to hide his anxiety and set himself to nursing the old man as best he could. His clumsy attentions were received with a sweet resignation, but the old man showed signs of impatience. At length, unable to restrain his desire, he asked:
"Why don't you begin to write your piece instead of wastin' time on my old hulk? I want to see it's done all shipshape. We ain't goin' to have no 'Doc' Wilson nor a lot of fresh young pilots laughin' at our blunders. I'll overhaul the writin' for you."
