“Ah,” said Drysdale, taking the pewter down from his lips, with a sigh, and handing it to Tom who sat next him, “by Jove I feel better.”
“It's almost worth while pulling 'hard all' from Abingdon to get such a thirst,” said another of the crew.
“I'll tell you what, though,” said Drysdale, “to-day's the last day you'll catch me in this blessed boat.”
Tom had just finished his draught, but did not reply; it was by no means the first time that Drysdale had announced this resolve. The rest were silent also.
“It's bad enough to have to pull your heart out, without getting abused all the way into the bargain. There Miller stands in the stern—and a devilish easy thing it is to stand there and walk into us—I can see him chuckle as he comes to you and me, Brown—'Now, 2, well forward;' '3, don't jerk;' 'Now 2, throw your weight on the oar; come, now, you can get another pound on.' I hang on like grim Death,—then its 'Time, 2; now, 3-'”
“Well, it's a great compliment,” broke in Tom, with a laugh; “he thinks he can make something of us.”
“He'll make nothing of us first, I think,” said Drysdale. “I've lost eight pounds in a fortnight. The Captain ought to put me in every place in the boat, in turn, to make it water-tight. I've larded the bottom boards under my seat so that not a drop of water will ever come through again.”
“A very good thing for you, old fellow,” said Diogenes; “you look ten times better than you did at the beginning of the term.”
“I don't know what you call a good thing, you old fluter. I'm obliged to sit on my hip bones—I can't go to a lecture—all the tutors think I am poking fun at them, and put me on directly. I haven't been able to go to lecture these ten days.”
“So fond of lecture as he is, too, poor fellow,” put in Tom.