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Quiller-Couch, Arthur Thomas, Sir, 1863-1944

"The Mayor of Troy"

At a pinch, a dozen hammocks could be slung in the
den which the marine's lantern revealed; but how a dozen sick men
could recover there, and how the surgeon could move between the
hammocks to perform his ministrations, were mysteries happily left
unsolved. As it was, the two invalids and their visitors crowded the
place to suffocation.
"Delirious, you say?" hemmed the surgeon, a bald little man with a
twinkling eye, an unshaven chin and a very greasy shirt frill.
"Well, well, give me your pulse, my friend. Better a blister on the
neck than a round shot at your feet, hey? I near upon gave you up
when they brought you aboard--upon my word I did." The Major
groaned. "You seemed a humane man, sir," he answered feebly.
"Spare me your blisters and get me put ashore, for pity's sake!"
The doctor shook his head. "My good fellow, we weighed an hour ago
with a fresh northerly breeze. I haven't been on deck, but by the
cant of her we must be clear of the Sound already and hauling up for
Portsmouth."
"On your peril you detain me, sir! I'll have your fool of a captain
broken for this--cashiered, sir--kicked out of the service, by
Heaven! I am a Justice of the Peace, I tell you!"
"And _coram_," put in Mr. Sturge, "and _custalorum_. He'll make a
Star-Chamber matter of it. . . . The poor fellow's raving, I tell
you. A curse on your inhumanity! But I can wait for my revenge at
Portsmouth.


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