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70 "Keep still, please," I said.

He was the kind of young man who recovers his faculties very quickly. He pulled himself to his feet and stood there swaying a little.

"Thank you, I don't need anything done for me."

His manner was defiant, almost aggressive. Not a word of thanks—of even common gratitude!

"That is a nasty wound. You must let me dress it."

"You will do nothing of the kind."

He flung the words in my face as though I had been begging a favour of him. My temper, never placid, rose.

"I cannot congratulate you upon your manners," I said coldly.

"I can at least relieve you of my presence." He started for the door, but reeled as he did so. With an abrupt movement I pushed him down upon the sofa.

"Don't be a fool," I said unceremoniously. "You don't want to go bleeding all over the ship, do you?"

He seemed to see the sense of that, for he sat quietly whilst I bandaged up the wound as best I could.

"There," I said, bestowing a pat on my handiwork, "that will have to do for the present. Are you better tempered now and do you feel inclined to tell me what it's all about?"

"I'm sorry that I can't satisfy your very natural curiosity."

"Why not?" I said, chagrined.

He smiled nastily.

"If you want a thing broadcasted, tell a woman. Otherwise keep your mouth shut."

"Don't you think I could keep a secret?"

"I don't think—I know."

He rose to his feet.

"At any rate," I said spitefully, "I shall be able to do a little broadcasting about the events of this evening."