two," replied Bob, coolly. "You see, the starving and
heat were too much for them. Whitney did everything he could for them,
but, as he said, they died off like flies."

Mark looked at him in horror.

"How can you be so brutally cynical?" he said, with a shudder.

"Who's brutally cynical?" cried Bob, indignantly, and forgetting all the
doctor's orders. "I'm very sorry, of course. We did all we could to
save the poor fellows, but they died, and there's an end of them. I
don't feel bound to be miserable because the doctor couldn't save them."

Mark's brow contracted a little. He felt that he did not like Bob
Howlett half so well as of old, but that perhaps he had been too hard in
calling him brutally cynical, and he spoke more gently now.

"Who were the two that recovered?"

"Eh? I dunno."

Mark stared.

"Well, how should I know what their names are? Hashy and Quashy, or
something of the kind. They're out and outers to eat, and don't seem a
bit the worse. I called 'em Soup and Taters yesterday after seeing 'em
at their feeding."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was answering your questions about the black fellows."

"I didn't ask you about the blacks."

"Yes, you did."

"I didn't, stupid," said Mark, angrily.

"Huh! Ha, ha!" cried Bob. "He's getting better. Go it, old chap!
Call me something else."

"I asked you about the boat's crew."

"No, you didn't. What about 'em?"

"I asked you about their being saved, and you said all were dead but
two."

"Oh, I say, what a cracker! You are getting better, and no mistake.
You asked me about how many of the black fellows the doctor saved, and I
told you those two first fellows that we got on board, and the others
died."

"Then Mr Russell and the lads?"

"Oh, they're all right," cried Bob; "leastways, not all right, but ever
so much better. You've been by a long way the worst."

"Then Mr Russell isn't dead?" gasped Mark.

"Here, steady, my lad. What's the matter?"

"Oh, tell me--tell me!" cried Mark, excitedly.

"Why, of course he isn't. Now, don't go on like that. Here, I'll run
for old Whitney."

"No, no," whispered Mark, clinging to his messmate's arm. "I'm better
now. I thought you told me that he was dead. It has worried me
dreadfully."

"Oh, but you shouldn't get all sorts of fancies in your head now it's a
bit weak. I don't know about saying _now_ it's a bit weak," said Bob,
with a comical smile, "because you always