"Nonsense, Macan," I answered shortly, wishing to shut him up at once, for he was Dr Nettleby's factotum and if he got hold of the story it would soon be all over the ship. "I've only been splashed with some water and want to shift my rig, that's all." "Sphlashed is it, sor?" he repeated with a broad grin that completely shut out the rest of his face. "Faith, if ye was to axe me I'd tell ye, begorrah, ye looks loike a drowned rat, sor!" "None of your impudence, corporal," I said with dignity, not liking his easy familiarity; though, poor fellow, he did not mean any harm by it, as it was only his Irish way of speaking; "I'll report you to the sergeant." "An' is it rayporting _me_, sor, you'd be afther, an' you thremblin' all over," he rejoined, catching hold of me and helping to peel off my soaking garments. "Faith, sor, I'll be afther rayportin' _you_ to the docthor!" "Hi, hullo, who's taking my name in vain?" at that moment exclaimed Dr Nettleby himself, emerging from the gunroom at this critical juncture, the worthy medico having been making his rounds, looking up some of those of his patients who were not actually on the sick list. "I'm sure I heard that Irish blackguard Macan's voice somewhere. Ah, it is you, corporal, as I thought! Hi, hullo, what's the matter, youngster?" "I--I'm all right, sir," said I, trying to rise, but sinking back again on the lid of my chest, where I had been sitting down while the good-natured marine was endeavouring to pull off my wet boots. "It is nothing, sir." "He's bin taking a dip in the say, sir, wid all his clothes on," explained Macan; "an' faith he's got a bit damp, sir." "Damp, you call it, corporal? Why, he's dripping wet and chilled to the bone!" cried the doctor, feeling my pulse. "How did this come about, youngster?" "It was an accident, sir," I replied hesitatingly, not wishing to incriminate my messmates. "I would rather not speak of it, doctor, if you'll excuse me." "Oh, I see, skylarking, eh? Well, well, you must go to bed at once, or you'll be in a high fever before sundown. Corporal Macan!" "Yis, sor." "Take this young gentleman to the sick bay and put him into a clean cot with plenty of blankets round him. By the way, too, corporal, ask Dr McGilpin to let you have a stiff glass of hot grog." "For mesilf, sor?" "No, you rascal, confound your cheek! Certainly not," replied the doctor, amused by the question. "This young gentleman is to take it as hot as he can drink it. It will throw him into a perspiration and make him sleep. Do you hear, youngster?" "Y-es, sir," I stammered out as well as I could, for my teeth were chattering again and I was shaking all over. "Bu-but I'd rather not go to the sick bay, sir, if you don't mind. I don't want anyone to hear of wha--what has hap-hap-happened."