"Sir?" said the doctor, quietly.

"Go down and tidy my cabin, and see you do it well."

The doctor went below without a word, and worked like a housemaid. When
he came on deck again, his face wore a smile almost of happiness, and his
hand caressed one trousers pocket as though it concealed a hidden weapon.

For the following three or four days the two unfortunates were worked
unceasingly. Mr. Thomson complained bitterly, but the cook wore a
sphinx-like smile and tried to comfort him.

"It won't be for long, Harry," he said, consolingly.

The solicitor sniffed. "I could write tract after tract on temperance,"
he said, bitterly. "I wonder what our poor wives are thinking? I expect
they have put us down as dead."

"Crying their eyes out," said the doctor, wistfully; "but they'll dry
them precious quick when we get back, and ask all sorts of questions.
What are you going to say, Harry?"

"The truth," said the solicitor, virtuously.

"So am I," said his friend; "but mind, we must both tell the same tale,
whatever it is. Halloa! what's the matter?"

"It's the skipper," said the boy, who had just run up; "he wants to see
you at once. He's dying."