this was more a term of affection than an actual description, since the two bears didn’t seem to have enough intelligence between them for an apprentice* chimney sweep.

After his dinner, he told Mother that the guest would need his meals brought up to him for a week or so. He was just in the middle of saying what certain foods the patient should not be given until he was well when, from across the room, old Billy piped up his tireless song:

“Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest-

Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!

Drink and the Devil had done fer the rest-

Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”

The doctor’s face flashed with annoyance, but he ignored the dog and went on talking. “He should get plenty of fresh fruit,” he advised, “especially apples. He-“

The captain slapped the table. “Silence between the decks!” he roared. “Silence, now, or I’ll have yer head!”

Doc turned on him with an irate expression and snapped, “If you keep drinking rum, the vorld vill soon be short a scoundrel!”

“Swing yeh for a brainless lout,” retorted the captain.

“Now see here!” Muk burst out. “You oughtn’t talk that way about…”

Billy pulled a sailor’s knife from his belt. “I’ll pin ye to the wall if ye don’t close yer yap!” he yelled.

Muk immediately tried to hide behind Doctor Boris. Since he was roughly three times the bird’s size, it didn’t help much.

Boris’ face quivered a little, and his voice dropped a notch. “There is a sick man upstairs who needs peace and qviet.” Eyeing the knife he added, “Especially peace. Now put that knife avay, or I vill see to it that you hang.”

Bones paused. He muttered something about doctors and reclined grumbling into his seat.

“Now listen, and listen vell,” continued Doc, bolder now that the knife had been lowered. “I’ll be in and out of here for a few days, and I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Any complaints about you and I promise, on my honor, the judge shall hear of it.”

The captain was silent for the rest of the evening and, to my surprise, the remainder of the week.

Then, on a cold morning in mid-January, another sailor came into the inn. No missing leg, but he did have two fingers gone from his left hand. He was skinny and nasty-looking, with mangy black fur that looked as if it hadn’t seen a bath in the last ten years at least. He demanded at once to see “my old shipmate, Bill.” The captain was out looking at ships, so the sailor made me wait with him until the captain returned. “Good ol’ Billy Bones!” he greeted in a loud, bold voice as the captain finally came in.

Billy’s face turned ashen gray, and his features seemed to wither as if he had aged a century in a matter of seconds. He resembled one of the ghosts in his stories, and from the way he stared at the other sailor you would have thought he was staring at one of the same. “Black Dog!” he gasped.

“Aye, Black Dog it is, here to see his old friend,” the dog grinned. “Now what say we sit down and talk square, like old shipmates?”

The captain shakily sat down while I stood there, unsure what to do. Black Dog scowled at me and spat, “Mind yer own business, brat!” I quickly busied myself cleaning up the other tables, keeping as far away from the two sea dogs as I could. I hardly heard any of their discussion until Billy pounded his fist so hard it shook the table. “No!” he roared at his “old shipmate.” “No and no twice, by thunder! If it comes to swinging, swing all, says I!” He and the other dog jumped up, drew their cutlasses, and began to fight. It was a brief but intense spectacle as they dueled, until Billy managed to knock Black Dog’s sword out of his grip. Black Dog fled in terror, with Billy close behind him still hacking at the air just inches short of the sailor’s hairy hide. As Black Dog threw himself out the door, Billy swung one last furious stroke that would have killed him if it had struck home. But instead the sword caught in the signpost above the door, and Black Dog got away.

My mother came in, drawn by the shouting, and saw Billy pulling his cutlass out of the signboard. “Mister Bones!” she snapped. “I have had enough…”

But the captain didn’t seem to hear her. He pulled his weapon out of the board, turned, and said slowly, “Rum.” He staggered as he spoke, leaning on a table for support.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Rum! I gotta get away from…” but then he slumped to the floor, his sword falling to the ground with a clatter beside him.

I looked at mother. “Should we take him to his room?”

She shook her head. “We’d better not move him if we can help it or we could make him worse.”

I certainly agreed with that, though it didn’t look like he could get much worse. His face, what I could see through his fur at least, was a hideous shade of blue, his tongue was hanging out, and his breath was coming in loud, ragged gasps.

The door opened again. Fortunately it was no sailor this time, but the doctor coming to check on his patient. He came in as if nothing was wrong until he spotted Billy lying on the floor. “Bwa!” he yelped, recoiling at the sight.

“There was a fight!” I said rapidly. “He was hurt!”

Boris squinted at Billy. “Peh,” he muttered scornfully. “A stroke is vhat he had, just like I said he vould. How long has he been like this?”

“About two minutes,” answered Mother.

“Well, we may still have time to save this rascal’s life. Would one of you get me a basin? Preferably one you do not intend to use for anything else.”

My mother ran to the kitchen and brought a basin, which she handed to the doctor.

“Thank you,” he nodded as he took it. He set it down and proceeded to rip Billy’s sleeve. I could see “Here’s Luck,” “Fair Wind,” and “Billy Bones His Fancy,” all neatly tattooed on his arm. “Balto, I may need some assistance in a moment, so stay close at hand. You’re not afraid of blood, are you?”

I gulped a little. “Not much,” I replied, knowing what he was about to do. He was going to bleed Billy, meaning he was going to drain some blood from a vein in his arm and, hopefully, remove poison from his body in the process. I’d had it done to me once when I was sick, and it wasn’t pleasant.

“Good,” he replied. He took a small scalpel and made a careful opening in Billy’s arm, using the basin to catch the blood. Turning his head away, he instructed, “Tell me vhen ve have drained a pint or so.”

Nauseated, I waited until there was about a pint in the basin and told him. Looking at the blood as little as possible, he quickly bandaged the dog’s foreleg and put the blood well out of sight. “Help me move this scoundrel,” he said. “Once we have gotten him to his room, we’ll dump that blood down the sewer.”

Billy opened his eyes, blinked, and made a clumsy effort to raise himself. “Where’s Black Dog?”

“There’s no one by that name here,” Boris replied. “You have been drinking rum and had a stroke, just as I said. Now listen, and listen well. One drink of rum von’t kill you. But if you take one you vill take another, and another, and then you vill have another stroke. Keep it up, and you are a dead dog for sure! Understand?”

Billy nodded groggily as we helped him up to his room, where he immediately collapsed on the bed. “Come with me, Balto,” said the goose. As soon as the door was shut, he turned to me. “He should be qviet for a while. He vill not be able to rise for a day or two, and it vould be best if he stayed where he is for at least a veek. No rum for him, do you understand? Another stroke like this one, and there vill be nothing I can do.”

I agreed, but later the captain asked for rum when I went to check on him. I explained what doctor Boris had said and he scoffed. “Doctors is swabs, every blighting one of ‘em,” he growled. “Look at me, Balto m’boy, at how my fingers twitches. I be havin’ the horrors, I am. I sees old Flint himself in the corner behind yeh, plain as print.”

I turned, but there was no one behind me. “Flint?” I asked, turning to the captain again. “Who’s Flint?”

“Not is, matey, was. He was a pirate, and a murderous one. Had him enough gold to fill a ship’s hold and ballast and spillin' over the decks, he did. But I won’t see him there if I has a little rum. E’en the doctor said one glass won’t kill me.” He reached in his pocket and fished out a gold piece. “I give ye this for a drink o’ rum.”

I didn’t want his money anymore, but in the end I got him our smallest glass, with only a few drops of rum and the rest water to keep him quiet so he wouldn’t disturb our other sick guest. He drank it greedily, too clouded up to know the difference, and said in a voice that was almost a gargle,