"Bilious, I reckon," said he.
"No," said I, "not bilious; it's my head."
"Bet I'd go to the surgeon, then, ef it was me," he said.
"Wish I could see the Doctor," I replied, spelling the word, mentally, with a capital.
"Well, why don't you tell your captain to let you go back?"
"You don't know my captain," said I.
"Hard on you, is he?"
"Well, hard ain't the word; but I wouldn't risk asking him out here."
"Bet I'd go, anyhow, ef it was me," said he.
"If he should see me going, know what he'd do?"