close here. I want
to know what's been the matter. Has there been a fight, and was I
wounded?"

"No!" cried Bob. "Why, what an old stuffy head you are. Don't you
understand? Can't you recollect?"

"Recollect what?"

"The going off in the first cutter with poor old Russell to pick up that
nigger?"

"No," said Mark, dreamily. "I don't recollect any--Yes I do, and we
found him, and--I say, Bob, what's wrong with my head? I can't think
properly."

"Won't draw. Chimney wants sweeping, old chap. But don't you fidget
about that," cried Bob, laying a hand upon his companion's forehead, and
then feeling his pulse with much professional correctness. "Temperature
normal, sir; pulse down to one. We must exhibit tonics, sir; sulph quin
pulv rhei; liquor diachylon. Great improvement, my dear sir. Allow me
your tongue."

"Don't be a fool, Bob. Tell me, there's a good chap."

"Ah! I remember now," cried Mark, excitedly. "Tom Fillot let the poor
fellow slide overboard, and Mr Russell and the men were all down with
the heat, and then--Yes, I recollect now; I went to sleep."

"Yes, you did, old chap," said Bob Howlett, holding his messmate's thin
hand in his; "and it seemed such a sound sleep when we picked you up
that I began to think you wouldn't wake again."

"But do pray tell me," cried Mark, excitedly. "How was it? We were all
dying of hunger and thirst in the boat. Stop, how is Mr Russell?"

"Bad. Can't rustle a bit; but he's coming round."

"And Dance, and Tom Fillot, and the others?"

"Tom Fillot looks cranky, but there isn't much the matter with him.
Coxswain Dance couldn't jig to save his life. T'others are blue mouldy,
and old Whitney talks about 'em as if he was using bricks and mortar.
He says he shall build 'em up."

"But do pray tell me all about it, Bob," said Mark, querulously.

"I say, don't cry about it, or I won't tell you anything."

"I won't say a word, only I am so impatient to know."

"Want to know it all--from the very beginning?"

"Of course. Don't tease me, Bob, now I'm so _weak_."

"Oh, won't I. Got you down flat, old chap. Can't bounce and bully me
now. Give me much of your nonsense, I'll punch your old head. Now,
then, where'll you have it?"

Bob struck an attitude, and began to square at his messmate playfully;
but he sat down again directly.

"Well, I'll let you off this time, and take pity on you as you're such a
cripple. Ahem! All in to begin?"

Mark