"Yes, yes . . . the theatre," he murmured. "The theatre? You were in the theatre? Then you saw _me_?" "I beg your pardon." "_Me_--Orlando B. Sturge. Yes, sir, if it be any consolation to you, know that I, Orlando B. Sturge, of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, am your temporary partner in adversity, your co-mate and brother in exile, with the added indignity of handcuffs; and all by an error which would be absurd if it weren't so infernally serious." "There has been some horrible mistake." "A mistake, sir, for which these caitiffs shall pay dearly," Mr. Sturge promised in his deepest tragedy voice. "A Justice of the Peace!" "Eh?" "With a Major's commission!" "Pardon, I think you must be confusing me with some other person. Orlando B. Sturge is my name, sir, and familiar--as I may say without vanity--wherever the Thespian art is honoured. But yesterday the darling of the public; and now, in the words of our national bard:" "'--Now lies he here, And none so poor to do him reverence.' "You are familiar with the works of Shakespeare, sir? Your speech, if you will allow me to say so, suggests a respectable education." "I have dipped into them," answered the Major inattentively, absorbed in his own woes. "My consolation is, this will get into the newspapers; and then let these ignorant ruffians beware!" "The newspapers! God forbid!" The Major shuddered. "Ha?" Mr. Sturge drew back in dark surprise. "'Tis the language of delirium. He raves. What ho, without there!" he called aloud. "What the devil's up?" responded a voice from the darkness behind the Major's head. It belonged to a marine standing sentry outside a spare sail which shut off the _Vesuvius's_ sick bay from the rest of the lower deck. "A surgeon, quick! Here's a man awake and delirious." "All right. You needn't kick up such a row, need you?" growled the marine. "Like Nero, I am an angler in a lake of darkness. You have handcuffed me, moreover, so that even if this accursed sty contains a bell-rope--which is improbable--I am debarred from using it. A light, there, and a surgeon, I say!" The marine let fall the sail flap and withdrew, grumbling. But apparently Mr. Sturge's mode of giving an order, being unlike anything in his experience, had impressed him; for by and by a faint ray illumined the dirty whitewashed beams over the Major's hammock, and four persons squeezed themselves into the sick bay--the marine holding a lantern and guiding the ship's surgeon, who was followed in turn by our friends Mr. Jope and Mr. Bill Adams.