“Then where’s the chimney, sir?”
“Out beyond that smoke and steam, I expect. There, wash your hands. It’s not hot enough to scald your hard skin.”
“No, sir; take a deal hotter water than that; but if you’ll excuse me, gents, I’ll get away from here, please. It don’t feel safe.”
“Give me the soap,” said Lane, handing his gun to Panton.
“There, Smith, my lad, a man who comes to such a place as this mustn’t be frightened at everything fresh he sees.”
“Oh, I’m not frightened, sir, not a bit,” said the man. “Am I, Billy?”
Wriggs grunted, and this might have meant anything.
“Only you see, sir,” continued Smith, “it seems to me as it’s a man’s dooty to try and take care of hisself.”
“Of course,” said Oliver Lane, as he laved his hands. “What beautiful soft, silky hot water. We must come here and have a regular bathe. It is nicely shut in.”
This to his companions, while Smith stood looking on in horror, and turned to his messmate.