“You, sir,” cried the bos’un. “Hooray! he’s took it all, and said he couldn’t touch a drop.”
“Well, I thought I couldn’t, Barney; but Mr Terry roused me up, and I feel better now.”
“Nay, sir; play fair.”
“What do you mean?”
“Give a man his doo. It was me roused you up.”
“So it was, Barney. I’m a deal better.”
“You’re quite well, says Doctor Barney Strake, and that’s me. Say, Master Syd, what do they call that they gives a doctor wrorped up in paper?”
“His fee.”
“Then, sir, that’s just what you owes me, who says to you now—just you go on deck and breathe the fresh wind, for this here place would a’most stuffocate a goose.”
“Yes, I’ll try and get on deck now,” said Syd.