“Right, youngster,” said the doctor, clapping him on the shoulder, “I will. We’ll have the moist application first, and the warm dry application after.”
Private Sim screwed up his face a little tighter.
“If I might make so bold, sir,” he said in a whining voice, “I think what you’ve given me’s done me ever so much good, and all I want now is rest.”
“Rest, my man!” said the doctor. “Nonsense man! You want the most brisk and active treatment. Yours is a sluggish system, but we’ll soon put you right. Here, my lads,” he continued to the sailors, “bring a stout rope, and lash it round his chest. We’ll give him four dips overboard for the head pressure, and then four dozen on the back to increase the circulation.”
“Oh, doctor!” groaned the man, looking round for sympathy; but only to see everyone within hearing on the grin.
“Don’t you be afraid, Sim; I’ll soon put you right,” said the doctor kindly. “I’ll make a man of you.”
“I don’t think I could bear it, doctor. I mean I do really feel better, sir.”
“Let’s see if you can stand, Sim,” said the doctor.
The man rose groaning, and held on by one of the sailors, who, at a word from the doctor, slipped away, and left the invalid standing.
“You are better, decidedly, Sim. You couldn’t have done that two days ago.”