Iris was laid on a couch in the messroom, and the steward summoned Mr.
Watts. The chief officer came, looking sheepish. It was manifestly a
great relief when he found that the "ghost" was unconscious.
"Oh, that's nothing," he cried, in response to his junior's eager
demand for information as to the treatment best fitted for such
emergencies. "They all drop in a heap like that w'en they're worried.
Fust you takes orf their gloves an' boots, then you undoes their stays
an' rips open their dresses at the necks. One of you rubs their 'ands
an' another their feet, an' you dabs cold water on their foreheads, an'
burn brown paper under their noses. In between whiles you give 'em a
drink, stiff as you can make it. It's dead easy. Them stays are a bit
troublesome if they run to size, but she's thin enough as it is.
Anyhow, I can show you a fine trick for that. Just turn her over till
I cast a lashin' loose with my knife."
Watts was elbowed aside so unceremoniously that his temper gave way.
Hozier lifted Iris's head gently and unfastened the neck-hooks of her
blouse. He began to chafe her cold hands tenderly, and pressed back
the hair from her damp forehead. The "chief," not flattered by his own
reflections, thought fit to sneer at these half measures.
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