Keating.' You've signed his name to it!"
Channing raised his head from his folded arms and stared at him
dully.
"You don't want to get Keating in trouble, do you?" he asked with
patience. "You don't want the C. P. to know why he couldn't write the
best story of the war? Do you want him to lose his job? Of course you
don't. Well, then, let it go as his story. I won't tell, and see you
don't tell, and Keating won't remember."
His head sank back again upon his crossed arms. "It's not a bad
story," he murmured.
But the captain shook his head; his loyalty to his employer was still
uppermost. "It doesn't seem right!" he protested. "It's a sort of a
liberty, isn't it, signing another man's name to it, it's a sort of
forgery."
Channing made no answer. His eyes were shut and he was shivering
violently, hugging himself in his arms.
A quarter of an hour later, when the captain returned with fresh
quinine, Channing sat upright and saluted him.
"Your information, sir," he said, addressing the open door politely,
"is of the greatest value. Tell the executive officer to proceed
under full steam to Panama. He will first fire a shot across her
bows, and then sink her!" He sprang upright and stood for a moment,
sustained by the false strength of the fever.
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