The men rolled one over, and then aided the skipper in placing the long
fair form of their visitor across it, and to trundle it lustily up and
down the deck, his legs forming convenient handles for the energetic
operators.
"He's coming round," said the mate, checking them; "he's speaking. How
do you feel, my poor fellow?"
He put his ear down, but the action was unnecessary. Private Smith felt
bad, and, in the plainest English he could think of at the moment, said
so distinctly.
"He's swearing," said the mate. "He ought to be ashamed of himself."
"Yes," said the skipper austerely; "and him so near death too. How did
you get in the water?"
"Went for a--swim," panted Smith surlily.
"SWIM?" echoed the skipper. "Why, we're ten miles from land!"
"His mind's wandering, pore feller," interrupted Joe hurriedly. "What
boat did you fall out of, matey?"
"A row-boat," said Smith, trying to roll out of reach of the skipper,
who was down on his knees flaying him alive with a roller-towel. "I had
to undress in the water to keep afloat. I've lost all my clothes."
"Pore feller," said Dan.
"A gold watch and chain, my purse, and three of the nicest fellers that
ever breathed," continued Smith, who was now entering into the spirit of
the thing.
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