Mr. Motley inclined his head with perfect suavity in honour of the doctor's words.
"It's a glorious thing to lie here on deck and do nothing!" he said, extending his elegantly clad limbs rather more into the distance. "How fine the breeze is, doctor—what do you think of the day, as a whole?"
"Unfinished, at present,—"
"Well—" said Mr. Motley,—"take that part of it which you with such precision term 'this moment',—what do you think of it as it appears here on deck?"
"Sunny—" said the doctor,—"and we are flies. On the whole I think it's a bore, Motley."
"What do you think of the Black Hole of Calcutta, in comparison?" said
Mr. Motley closing his eyes.
"The difference is, that that would have been an insufferable bore."
Mr. Motley smiled—stroking his chin with affectionate fingers. "On the whole," he said, "I think you're right in that position. What do you suppose Linden's about at this moment?"
"Is he your ward?" said the doctor.
"He's down below—" said Mr. Motley with a significant pointing of his train of remarks. "By which I don't mean! that he's left this planet—for truly, when he does I think it will be in a different direction; but he's down in the steerage—trying to get some of those creatures to follow him."