“Because I haven’t been ill,” I said, laughing.
“No, sir, you arn’t; but if I was you, I’d soon go down and cure him.”
“How?” I said, expecting to hear of some good old remedy.
“Physic, sir.”
“Yes, what physic?” I said.
“Bucket o’ water, sir,—take a hair o’ the dog as bit you, as the Scotch chaps say,—fresh dipped.”
“Rubbish, Bob Hampton; how could he drink a bucket of salt water?”
“Who said anything about drinking it, sir? I meant as lotion, ‘Outward application only,’ as Mr Frewen puts on his bottles o’ stuff sometimes.”
“What! bathe him with salt water?”
“Yes, sir, on’y we calls it dowsin’. Sharp and sudden like. Furst dollop fails, give him another, and keep it up till he walks on deck to get dry; then call me to swab up the cabin, and he’s all right.”