"It is so, Perk. How that brings the whole thing back! It seems to me I can see you scrubbing his face, that was as white as your own, with soap and ashes, and hear him say, 'Does it come off, Perk?'"
"I tell you what tickled me most, Rich—to see Savage spreading ink on that poultice, and Trafton thinking it came off his own face."
"Those were pleasant days, Perk; but they can come back only in recollection; and I feel like applying to that production of Mort's the language of Burns,—
'Thou mind'st me of departed joys,
Departed never to return.'"
"Rich, kick off your boots and put on these slippers." Rich obeyed. "Now put on this study-gown."
Perk then pulled a lounge up to the fire, and they sat down to talk.
After reviewing the past, which old class-mates are as sure to do as is an old sailor to overhaul his chest, and take everything out of it (sometimes a very light job), as soon as he gets to sea, Perk said,—
"I didn't expect you so soon, Rich."
"I was able to leave sooner than I expected when I wrote you. Might, indeed, have come before; but it took me a week to clean up. Look at these." He spread out his hands, that were hard, the palms and the edges of the forefingers and thumbs a rusty brown, and cracked.