“Ane’s waur than t’ither,” whimpered Watty.
“And now about your feet, my lad,” cried the doctor.
“Oh, they’re nane so bad as my han’s, sir; only dings and tangs o’ nichts.”
“There, get up, you young impostor!” cried the doctor, rising. “Frost-bitten?” he added, turning to the captain. “Nothing but a few chilblains. Here, you Steve,” he continued, button-holing the lad, “did you know there was nothing the matter but chilblains?”
“He told me his hands and feet were frost-bitten,” said Steve.
“Yes, but you knew better, sir,” said the doctor, who had hold of the boy’s arm and was marching him toward the cabin stairs.
“Well, I—” began Steve.
“Of course,” cried the doctor. “I saw the twinkle in your eye, my lad. Look here, don’t you play tricks with doctors; they get such chances for serving you out.”
“I suppose I ought to have spoken,” said Steve; “but it seemed so comic to see him so sure that he was frost-bitten, and it’s such a long time since we had a laugh that—”
“Let it rest, Handscombe,” said Captain Marsham good-humouredly. “Steve says it is a long time since he had a hearty laugh.”