When Thomas woke later that day he found his ship down with a raging fever. She shivered from bow to stern. Taking out a bottle of rum he poured some into a cloth and began rubbing her hull with it to cool her down.
She groaned and coughed weakly. "Thomas?"
"I'm here." He replied, setting the rag aside.
"I'm so cold." She whimpered.
"I know, you've got a very high fever. I'm trying to bring it down." He answered.
She shivered. Thomas bit his lip. Despite his best efforts she was dying and there was nothing more he could do.
"I'll be right back." he promised, giving her hull one last pat. He raced out.
He wasn't watching where he was going and ran right into the yard manager. "Oh, I'm sorry sir." Thomas stammered.
"It's alright lad. How's our ship?" He asked.
"Not good. She's failing." Thomas replied.
"Well it's a good thing this came when it did." He handed Thomas a telegram.
Thomas' face slowly turned upwards into a huge grin.
"Construction will resume tomorrow. I suggest you tell the lass."
"Yes sir I will. And thank you!" Thomas shouted over his shoulder as he raced off.
The yard manager chuckled to himself and went inside.
"534 guess what? Guess what?!" Thomas cried.