In this state of weakness, and with the fear of impending dissolution before his eyes, the skipper sent for Mr. Harry Thomson, and after some comparisons between lawyers and sharks, in which stress was laid upon certain redeeming features of the latter, paid a guinea and made his will.  His example, save in the amount of the fee, was followed by the mate; but Mr. Rogers, being approached tentatively by the doctor in his friend’s behalf, shook his head and thanked his stars he had nothing to leave.  He had enjoyed his money, he said.

They mended slowly as they approached Hong-kong, though a fit of temper on Mr. Mackenzie’s part, during which he threw out ominous hints about having his money back, led to a regrettable relapse in his case.  He was still in bed when they came to anchor in the harbour; but the skipper and his second officer were able to go above and exchange congratulations from adjoining deck-chairs.

“You are sure it wasn’t cholera?” asked the harbour-master’s deputy, who had boarded them in his launch, after he had heard the story.

“Positive,” said Carson.

“Very fortunate thing they had you on board,” said the deputy—­“very fortunate.”

The doctor bowed.

“Seems so odd, the three of them being down with it,” said the other; “looks as though it’s infectious, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” said the doctor, accepting with alacrity an offer to go ashore in the launch and change into some decent clothes.  “I think I know what it was.”

The captain of the Stella pricked up his ears, and the second officer leaned forward with parted lips.  Carson, accompanied by the deputy and the solicitor, walked toward the launch.

“What was it?” cried the skipper, anxiously.

[Illustration:  THE SECOND OFFICER LEANED FORWARD]

“I think that you ate something that disagreed with you,” replied the doctor, grinning meaningly.  “Good-by, captain.”

The master of the Stella made no reply, but rising feebly, tottered to the side, and shook his fist at the launch as it headed for the shore.  Doctor Carson, who had had a pious upbringing, kissed his hand in return.

A GOLDEN VENTURE

The elders of the Tidger family sat at breakfast—­Mrs. Tidger with knees wide apart and the youngest Tidger nestling in the valley of print-dress which lay between, and Mr. Tidger bearing on one moleskin knee a small copy of himself in a red flannel frock and a slipper.  The larger Tidger children took the solids of their breakfast up and down the stone-flagged court outside, coming in occasionally to gulp draughts of very weak tea from a gallipot or two which stood on the table, and to wheedle Mr. Tidger out of any small piece of bloater which he felt generous enough to bestow.

“Peg away, Ann,” said Mr. Tidger, heartily.

His wife’s elder sister shook her head, and passing the remains of her slice to one of her small nephews, leaned back in her chair.  “No appetite, Tidger,” she said, slowly.