“A basin of—”
Miles exploded, literally as well as metaphorically, and Moses retired.
“Strange,” thought that healthy soldier, as he stalked away on further errands of mercy, stooping as he went to avoid beams—“strange that Miles is so changeable in character. I had come to think him a steady, reliable sort of chap.”
Puzzling over this difficulty, he advanced to the side of another hammock, from which heavy groans were issuing.
“Are you very bad, corporal?” he asked in his usual tone of sympathy.
“Bad is it?” said Flynn. “Och! it’s worse nor bad I am! Couldn’t ye ax the captin to heave-to for a—”
The suggestive influence of heaving-to was too much for Flynn. He pulled up dead. After a few moments he groaned—
“Arrah! be off, Moses, av ye don’t want my fist on yer nose.”
“Extraordinary!” murmured the kindly man, as he removed to another hammock, the occupant of which was differently constituted.
“Moses,” he said, as the visitant approached.