"But I have no intention of getting up and
bothering myself with duty for some time to come. I've done enough for
the good of the service to last me for some time."

"I should think so," said I. "I hear Macquoid's voice; here he comes."
I uttered a few groans, which Spellman repeated with considerably more
vigour. I let him go on, while I sat up with a pleased countenance to
welcome the assistant-surgeon, who appeared with a big bottle containing
some black-looking stuff, and a glass. Spellman went on groaning.

"Poor fellow, I've got something which will do him good," observed
Macquoid with a twinkle in his eye. "Here, take this, my lad; there is
nothing like it for internal pains."

As he poured out the nauseous draught, the smell alone was so horrible
that I resolved to do anything rather than take it. Spellman, however,
fearing that he should be detected if he refused, held his nose with his
finger and thumb, and with many a wry face gulped it down.

"Don't you think a little more would do him good?" said I, in a hurried
tone. "I don't want any myself; the fact is, Macquoid, that the
plasters you put on yesterday did me so much good, and you have treated
me so well altogether, that I feel getting quite well and strong, and
have been waiting all the morning for your coming, to ask if I might get
up."

Macquoid shook his head at me. "We'll see how the wound looks first,"
said he. "But you must take a little of my elixir asafoetidae et
liquorice first. You evidently properly appreciate its virtues by
recommending that Spellman should have more of it."

"Ah, but you know, as you often say, when you drink up my grog, `What's
one man's meat, is another man's poison,'" I answered promptly, for
Macquoid was very fond of making use of all sorts of proverbs,
especially when he wished to show that he was right in anything he chose
to do. "I have no doubt that it will do Spellman a great deal of good,
or of course you would not give it to him, it would be meat to him; but
as I am perfectly free of pains it would be positively throwing it away
on me, though I don't say it would be poison, of course not."

"Oh, you humbug, you arrant humbug," exclaimed Spellman, sitting up in
his hammock and clenching his fist at me. "Why, not five minutes ago,
you were groaning away worse than I was--that he was, Macquoid. Give
him some of your beastly stuff. It's not fair that I should take it,
and not him. He promised to