“Nor me telling you to mind the crocs didn’t try to come aboard your boat?”
“No. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, my word!” sighed Peter. “Here’s a pretty go! Talk about a poor fellow being off his chump!” Then aloud, as he felt the lad’s hand feebly feeling for his, “It was like this ’ere, sir. You must have got into some row with a boatful of the niggers, and they knocked you over the head.”
“Knocked me over the head?” said Archie dreamily. “No, I don’t remember. Here, give me some more water.”
Peter Pegg hurriedly filled the cup—half a cocoa-nut shell—and Archie drank a mouthful and pushed it away.
“Let me lie down again,” he said.—“Now go on. Knocked me over the head?” he said very slowly and thoughtfully, as if weighing his words. “Did you know that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You said you were on sentry?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Then why didn’t you come and help me?”