"Right there," said Tom, waving his hand toward the Sea Ranger; "do you think I'm going to let those rascals steal my brother and my chum without doing something?"
"By ginger, Tom, when can you start?"
It was Jeff who spoke, warmly, admiringly. His eyes shone with the contagion of Tom's enthusiasm.
"Just as soon as a doctor has attended to the professor. Hello, here he comes now. How do you feel now, professor?"
"Like taking after that cargo of villains as soon as we can get away," was the warlike and unexpected reply of the usually mild-mannered professor.
"But your injury?" asked Tom, self-reproachful at having in his indignation almost forgotten the professor's condition.
"I feel almost sound again—I really do," stoutly declared the professor.
The doctor, who had been so hastily summoned, coming up at this instant, the party adjourned to the stateroom of the Sea Ranger. The medico pronounced that the wound that had laid the professor low, while it had been painful, was not dangerous. He also prescribed some lotion for a large, knobby protuberance that was making itself manifest on Tom's cranium, where Dampier had struck him.
In the midst of this conference, the door was hastily thrown open, and Jeff entered. He carried a big carpet-bag, and behind him stood a bulging-eyed negro.
"Hello, Jeff," exclaimed Tom warmly, looking up. "Come to say good-by?"