the fifth officer, caught me slyly by the arm and said, "Lucky fellow!
Nothing to do but watch the world go by. I wish I had you in the North
Atlantic on a whaler, or in the No Man's Sea on a pearl-smack for a
matter of thirty days."

"What would come of that, Hungerford?" said I.

"An exchange of matter for mind, Marmion; muscle for meditation, physics
for philosophy."

"You do me too much honour; at present I've neither mind, meditation,
nor philosophy; I am simply vegetating."

"Which proves you to be demoralised. I never saw a surgeon on a ship
who wasn't. They began with mind--more or less--they ate the fruits of
indolence, got precious near being sinful as well as indolent, and ended
with cheap cynicism, with the old 'quid refert'--the thing Hamlet
plagiarised in his, 'But it is no matter.'"

"Isn't this an unusual occupation for you, Hungerford--this Swift-like
criticism?"

"Swift-like, is it? You see, I've practised on many of your race,
Marmion, and I have it pat now. You are all of two classes--those who
sicken in soul and leave after one trip, and those who make another trip
and are lost."

"Lost? How?"

Hungerford pressed his fingers hard on my breastbone, looked at me