“Dan, please, sir. My mates never put any ‘yel’ at the end of my name.”
“That isn’t the end,” said Mark sharply. “That’s the middle. Well, do you feel better?”
“Feel better, sir?” said the man, whose miserably pallid face was overspread for the moment by a warm glow, while the tears of gratitude stood in his eyes. “Why, every morning since we came up I have seemed to be coming to life again.”
“Well, don’t cry about it,” said Mark shortly.
“Oh, that’s nothing, sir,” said the man, using the back of both fists to brush away the signs of his emotion. “That’s only being so weak, sir. Don’t you take any notice of that. You see, I have been going backwards and getting quite like a kid again. And oh, gentlemen, it was a lucky day for me when I run against you two.”
“Stop!” cried Mark angrily. “This is the third time you have begun talking to us like this, and we won’t stand it; will we, Dean?”
“No, that we won’t,” cried his cousin. “Here, Daniel—Dan, I mean—”
“Thank you, sir. That’s better.”
“You wait a bit. I had not finished,” continued Mark. “If ever you say another word to us, whether we are together or whether we are alone, about being grateful, and that sort of thing, I shall say you are a canting humbug—at least, my cousin will; I shouldn’t like to be so harsh.”
Dean dug his elbow into his cousin’s ribs at this.