you of all your clothes, so as to get at the naked truth, holding you
up by the heels for the purpose of shaking the diamonds out of you, in
case any are concealed in your hair, mouth, ears, eyes and so forth.

"He has diamonds on the brain!" I hear some ruffian exclaim, and in
another second--

* * * * *

Well--what happened I cannot tell you: I must have fainted. When I
came to myself I was lying by the chair in which I had been previously
sitting when listening to the Captain's reading, and bending over me
with a glass of water in his hand, was the faithful and clever Doctor
whose companionship on this voyage of discovery I am daily and hourly
learning to appreciate at its proper value. I fancy the ship's crew
were round about me, with the Engineer and the Chaplain. I feel
inclined to say, "HARDY, HARDY, kiss me, HARDY!" and then something
about "Tell them at home"--but the words stick in my throat, as they
did in _Macbeth's_ throat (only they were other words) when he was on
his throat-sticking expedition. (Little Shakspearian reference thrown
in here, and no extra charge.)

"How many of these has he had?" I hear the Doctor say, and I perceived
that he was holding up an empty tumbler. I should like to explain
that, as we were engaged in composition, there had been 'composing
draughts.' I fancy I caught the tone of the Clever Captain's voice in
reply, but the next minute I felt myself being lifted up and carried
off. I wished to tell them of my strange adventure, and how I had
barely escaped with my life, but somehow drowsiness overcame me, and
I must have fallen asleep.