W. W. Jacobs

“ Mackenzie, his national spirit rising in hot rage, took out the agreed amount and handed it to the physician.
"Am I in danger?" said the skipper.
"There's always danger," said the doctor, in his best bedside manner. "Have you made your will?"
The other, turning pale, shook his head. "Perhaps you'd like to see a solicitor?" said Carson, in winning tones.
"I'm not bad enough for that," said the skipper, stoutly.
"You must stay here and nurse the skipper, Mr. Mackenzie," said Carson, turning to the mate; "and be good enough not to make that snuffling noise; it's worrying to an invalid." ”

“ Mackenzie was lying flat on his stomach in his bunk, punching the air with his fists and rending it with his language. The second officer appeared on deck as he finished his tale, and glancing forward, called out loudly for the cook.
"You're wanted, Frank," said the solicitor.
"When he calls me doctor, I'll go," said the other, stiffly.
"Cook!" bawled the second officer. "Cook! COOK!"
He came running forward, his face red and angry, and his fist doubled. "Didn't you hear me calling you?" he demanded, fiercely.
"I've been promoted," said Carson, sweetly. "I'm ship's surgeon now." ”

“ Mackenzie.
"How much—did—ye say?" hissed the latter.
"Poor people," repeated the doctor, with relish, "five shillings a visit; very poor people, half a crown."
"I'll have half a crown's worth," moaned the miserable mate.
"Mr. Mackenzie," said a faint voice from the skipper's cabin.
"Sir?" yelled the mate, who was in torment.
"Don't answer me like that, sir," said the skipper, sharply. "Will you please to remember that I'm ill, and can't bear that horrible noise you're making?"
"I'm—ill—too," gasped the mate.
"Ill? Nonsense!" said the skipper, severely. "We can't both be ill. ”