“He said beasts as pray, and I don’t believe it.”
“And I don’t believe your head’s properly stuffed, mate. Yes, sir,” he continued, as Oliver spoke. “You call?”
“I said if you want to wash your snakey hands, here’s a good chance.”
The sailor stepped down into a hollow, above which a little cloud of vapour hung over a basin of beautifully blue water, enclosed by a fine drab-coloured stone. It was not above a foot deep, save in the centre, where there was a little well-like hole, and a dozen feet across, while at one side it brimmed over and rippled down and away in a tiny stream, overhung by beautifully green ferns and water-plants, which were of the most luxuriant growth.
“Looks good enough for a bath, gentlemen, when you’ve done,” said Smith.
“Try your hands first,” said Oliver. “But wait a moment,” and he took a little case from his pocket, and from it a glass tube with a mercury bulb.
“Look at that!” whispered Billy Wriggs. “Tools for everything, mate. What’s he going to do—taste it first?”
“I dunno,” said Smith, watching Oliver Lane attentively, as the young man plunged the mercury bulb in the water, and held it there for a few moments, and then drew it out.
“Go on, my lads,” he said. “Like some soap?”
As he spoke he took a small metal box out of his pocket, and opened it to display a neatly fitting cake of soap.