"Oh, never mind about that, old chap. We'll soon feed you up, old Whitney and I. Make you strong as a horse again. Van, old cockalorum, I am glad." And to show his delight, Bob Howlett executed a kind of triumphal dance, ending with a stamp. "Don't be an idiot, Bob," said Mark, feebly. "Come 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 looked at him piteously, and Bob laid his hand upon his arm. "All right, old chap," he said, huskily; "I won't tease you. I feel so jolly to see you open your eyes again, that it made me play the fool."