as the ex-cook of the We’re Here came out of the fog to take the horse’s bridle. He allowed no one but himself to attend to any of Harvey’s wants.
“Thick as the Banks, ain’t it, doctor?” said Dan, propitiatingly.
But the coal-black Celt with the second-sight did not see fit to reply till he had tapped Dan on the shoulder, and for the twentieth time croaked the old, old prophecy in his ear.
“Master—man. Man—master,” said he. “You remember, Dan Troop, what I said? On the We’re Here ?”
“Well, I won’t go so far as to deny that it do look like it as things stand at present,” said Dan. “She was a noble packet, and one way an’ another I owe her a heap—her and Dad.”
“Me too,” quoth Harvey Cheyne.