“Hah!” said the doctor, coming up to where the two middies were gazing over the stern rail, “that’s a comfort, boys. I can breathe freely now.”
“Yes,” said Murray; “the air seems so much fresher and makes one feel more elastic, sir. Gives one more of an appetite.”
“What!” said the doctor drily. “More of an appetite, eh? I never noticed that you two wanted that. Gracious, how much do you want to devour!”
“Oh, I say, doctor, I don’t eat so much,” said Murray, protesting.
“No, sir; it isn’t so much; it’s too much.”
“You’re mixing us up, doctor,” said the lad mischievously, and he gave the professional gentleman a peculiarly meaning look. “You were thinking of Roberts.”
“Here, what’s that?” said the middy sharply. “I’m sure I never eat more than a fellow of my age and size should.”
“Oh, I say, Dick,” said Murray. “Hear him, doctor? Why, I’ve seen the mess steward open his eyes sometimes with wonder.”
“Tchah! He’s always opening his eyes with wonder, staring at everything. He’s a regular idiot.”
“Ah, well,” said Murray, “I don’t want to draw comparisons.”