“At the same time,” continued Mr. Thomson—­“at the—­” He let go his friend’s arm and staggered away; the doctor gazed after him sympathetically.

[Illustration:  He saw another tatterdemalion coming towards him.]

“His digestion is not all it should be,” he said to the second officer, confidentially.

“If you don’t get for’ard in two twos,” said that gentleman, explosively, “I’ll knock your heads off.”

The doctor gazed at him in haughty disdain, and taking the limp Thomson by the arm, led him slowly away.

“How did we get here?” asked Mr. Harry Thomson, feebly.

The doctor shook his head.

“How did we get these disgusting clothes on?” continued his friend.

The doctor shook his head again.  “The last thing I can remember, Harry,” he said, slowly, “was imploring you not to drink any more.”

“I didn’t hear you,” said the solicitor, crustily; “your speech was very indistinct last night.”

“Seemed so to you, I dare say,” said the other.

Mr. Thomson shook his arm off, and clinging to the mainmast, leaned his cheek against it and closed his eyes.  He opened them again at the sound of voices, and drew himself up as he saw the second officer coming along with a stern-visaged man of about fifty.

“Are you the master of this vessel?” inquired the doctor, stepping to his friend’s side.

“What the blazes has that got to do with you?” demanded the skipper.  “Look here, my lads; don’t you play any of your little games on me, because they won’t do.  You’re both of you as drunk as owls.”

“Defamation of character,” said the solicitor, feebly, to his friend.

“Allow me,” said the doctor, with his best manner, “to inquire what all this means.  I am Dr. Frank Carson, of Melbourne; this gentleman is my friend Mr. Thomson, of the same place, solicitor.”

“What?” roared the skipper, the veins in his forehead standing out.  “Doctor!  Solicitor!  Why, you damned rascals, you shipped with me as cook and A. B.”

“There’s some mistake,” said the doctor.  “I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to take us back.  I hope you haven’t come far.”

“Take those scarecrows away,” cried the skipper, hoarsely; “take them away before I do them a mischief.  I’ll have the law of somebody for shipping two useless lubbers as seamen.  Look to me like pickpockets.”

“You shall answer for this,” said Carson, foaming; “we’re professional men, and we’re not going to be abused by a bargee.”

“Let him talk,” said Mr. Thomson, hurriedly drawing his friend away from the irate skipper.  “Let him talk.”

“I’ll put you both in quod when we get to Hong-kong,” said the skipper.  “Meantime, no work, no food; d’ye hear?  Start and cook the breakfast, Mr. Doctor; and you.  Mr. Lawyer, turn to and ask the boy to teach you an A. B’s duties.”