'What, Mitchel, at it again? You are, I see, determined to try the temper of the blade,' observed my brother.
'Oh, stop that fellow with his heroics and his ribaldry. When he begins, there's no chance for me.'
'Why so cranky, Mitchel? But for you, I should not this morning have a rib all dry.'
'That shows you all the more ungrateful. You won't let a fellow have a chance.'
'Quite the contrary,' said my brother; 'it is you that won't let a fellow have a chance. M. tried hard to get one at me this morning, but you wouldn't let him have it.'
'Good-morning, good-morning,' said Mitchel; 'that fellow's got tongue enough for a dozen. I'm off.'
'No, no,' said G.; 'come and breakfast with me. I can't ask the Doctor; he has to go to his wife. How I pity him! But, poor fellow! he can't help it now.'
'Well, don't be envious of your neighbours, G.,' returned my brother; 'it looks strongly as if you were determined to follow my good example.' And so the trio, with jest and raillery, and in high good humour with all the world and themselves, parted.
Great was the stir, and much was the commotion, in the little community of Tollicherry, when it was known that my brother had been in such imminent peril, and that his life had been saved by the gallantry and promptitude of Lieutenant Mitchel. The story had to be told over again and again, and the questions to be answered respecting the occurrence could not be enumerated. At last, like every other nine days' wonder, people began to get tired of it, and the dinner to the hero of the tale came in its turn to occupy public attention.