“Oh, no; that was a bit of madness. We mustn’t try that again.”
“What then? It seems to me that we may as well keep going to sleep till we don’t wake again.”
“What!” shouted Aleck, his companion’s words fully rousing him from his lethargic state. “Well, of all the cowardly things for a fellow to say!”
“Cowardly!” cried the middy, literally galvanised into action by the sound of that word. “You want to quarrel, then, do you? You want to fight, eh? Very well, I’m your man. Let’s light the lanthorn and have it out at once.”
“Oh, very well,” cried Aleck. “There’s a nice soft bit of sand yonder that will just do.”
The middy snorted like an angry animal and began to breathe hard, while Aleck, feeling regularly angry now, felt for the tinder-box and matches, and began to send the sparks flying in showers.
The tinder was soon glowing, the match well alight, and a fresh candle stuck in its place, the lanthorn being set upon a flat stone, with the door open, after which the two lads slipped off their jackets and rolled up their sleeves.
“Shut the lanthorn door, stupid,” cried the middy.
“What for?”
“What for? To keep the candle from tumbling out the first time I knock you up against that stone.”