Sweat drenched his clothes as he turned over and coughed more painfully than ever. He’d never voluntarily leave his command … he was no hero but he was no damn malingerer either … God, his forehead felt hot. He wondered how much truth there was in the theory that said the subconscious mind ruled a man. If he wanted to get sick bad enough, would his body oblige …? He felt ashamed of himself without having committed any crime. He was still sweating and tossing fitfully when Simpson came in. “That’s a bad cough you have, skipper,” Simpson said. “You should do something about it. We don’t want you sick at sea—” “Mr. Simpson,” he said suddenly, “has Mr. Buller by any chance talked to you about his crazy scheme for selling gas?” There was a moment of silence while Simpson put his Bible down. “Not straight out … just about what he calls theoretical possibilities …” “If I do get so sick I have to check into a hospital, what would you do about his theoretical possibilities?”
