“Well, look here, what do you say to me tumbling overboard so that you can come over after me and save my life?”
“Bother! Look here, Frank, if you can’t talk sense you’d better hold your tongue.”
“If I did you’d only get more rusty. I say, Dick, I once read about a fellow being saved from drowning.”
“Me, of course,” interrupted Roberts, in an angry tone. “What are you up to now—fishing for praise of your ‘gallant act’?”
“Not likely,” was the reply, good-humouredly. “I was going to tell you about some one who was saved from drowning.”
“Well, you needn’t. I know all about it now, thank you, and I don’t want to hear.”
“Never mind, old chap; I want to tell you, and it’s very interesting and quite true.”
Roberts grunted and gave himself a hitch so as to turn half away from his companion and stand staring away to sea.
“It said that when the poor fellow was on the deck again—you see, he had fallen from the yard and they had to lower down a boat so as to get him aboard, and when they did he seemed to be quite dead—same as you did.”
“Tchah! Nothing of the kind. I was only a bit insensible.”