“Strong enough or not,” returned Frank, “any risk is better than pining and perishing here. Put me down, Crayford, among those who volunteer to go.”
“Volunteers will not be accepted, in this case,” said Crayford. “Captain Helding and Captain Ebsworth see serious objections, as we are situated, to that method of proceeding.”
“Do they mean to keep the appointments in their own hands?” asked Frank. “I for one object to that.”
“Wait a little,” said Crayford. “You were playing backgammon the other day with one of the officers. Does the board belong to him or to you?”
“It belongs to me. I have got it in my locker here. What do you want with it?”
“I want the dice and the box for casting lots. The captains have arranged—most wisely, as I think—that Chance shall decide among us who goes with the expedition and who stays behind in the huts. The officers and crew of the Wanderer will be here in a few minutes to cast the lots. Neither you nor any one can object to that way of deciding among us. Officers and men alike take their chance together. Nobody can grumble.”
“I am quite satisfied,” said Frank. “But I know of one man among the officers who is sure to make objections.”
“Who is the man?”
“You know him well enough, too. The ‘Bear of the Expeditions’ Richard Wardour.”
“Frank! Frank! you have a bad habit of letting your tongue run away with you. Don’t repeat that stupid nickname when you talk of my good friend, Richard Wardour.”