At last, though, to his great relief, feeling as he did at the time that all the responsibility of the unpleasant voyage rested on his shoulders, Sir James cleared his throat as he sat back in a wicker chair mopping his forehead, and said quietly, "A beggar, Mark?" "No, father," cried Mark eagerly jumping at the chance of saying something to divert his father's smouldering anger; "a poor English sailor." "Well, the same thing, my boy, and I hope you relieved him--that is, if he was genuine." "Oh, he was genuine enough, father," cried Mark, and his words almost tumbled over one another as he related something of the poor fellow's plight. "Tut, tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated Sir James. "Very sad. Very hard for a man to be ill away from home. It would be a charity, doctor, if you saw the poor fellow in the morning to see if you could do anything for him." "My dear Sir James, you forget that I am not a professional medico. Of course I am willing enough, and will see the poor fellow, but I gather from what Mark here says that he has passed through all the stages of a jungle fever caught in some part of the Malay Peninsula, that he has been left here by the captain of his ship, and as far as my knowledge goes, the only thing I could recommend would be a sea voyage--say home." "He said he didn't believe he'd live to reach home," cried Dean quickly. "Or," continued the doctor, "a journey inland right up into the cool country away from this tropic malarial port." "Ah!" cried Mark excitedly. "That's what he said, father, and he came to us to--" Mark stopped short, gazing hard at his father, for a sudden shrinking as to how Sir James would take his words made him for the time being mute. "Well, my boy, what did he say? Why don't you go on?" "I didn't like to, father," faltered the boy. "Why not, sir?" "Because--because--" "Well, because--because?" "Because, father, I was afraid that you would think it so unreasonable." "Humph! How much do you want, then, eh? I am afraid your distressed sailor is a bit of a beggar after all." "Oh, no, father," cried Mark excitedly, and he had quite recovered his confidence now. "The poor fellow spoke as if he were appealing for his life." "Was all this genuine, Mark, or the cunning of a practised mendicant-- stop--what do you say, Dean?" "Oh, uncle, I am sure it was genuine." "Humph! Yes," said Sir James. "You are like what your mother was, boy--easily moved. Sounds bad, doctor. What do you say?" "Let us first hear the whole of Mark's story, sir," replied the doctor. "Right. Phew! I don't think it's quite so hot as it was. Now, Mark, what more have you to say?" The boy addressed was strung up now, and he spoke out firmly and quickly.