“Ah! Well, never mind about that,” said the doctor, smiling. “So long as I’ve a good crew going with me, I don’t care what induces them.”
“But you ain’t a-going, sir?” says Abram, looking harder than ever at our owner.
“Indeed, but I am, my man!” replied the doctor. “Why not?”
“Oh, nothing, sir!” says Abram, looking as confused as a great girl, while he stared harder than ever at the doctor.
“Now, what on earth are you thinking about?” said the doctor, making an effort to cross his legs, but failing, on account of the tight fit in the chair.
“Well, sir,” says Abram Bostock, slowly, “meaning no offence, I was a-wishing I were as fat as you are!”
“Oh, lor’!” groaned Scudds. And his one eye rolled tremendously.
“My good friend,” exclaimed the doctor, starting up a little way, but subsiding again, for he had raised the chair with him, as if he had been a hermit-crab and it was his shell,—“my good friend, I’d give five thousand pounds to be as thin as you!”
“Hor—hor—hor—hor!” roared Scudds, bursting into a tremendous laugh. “I say, skipper, what a wunner he’d be if we took to the boats!”
“Hush!” I exclaimed.