..."
"You are a jail-prop," said Jimmy, weakly.
"I am... an' proud of it, too. You! You 'aven't the bloomin' nerve--so
you inventyd this 'ere dodge...." He paused; then with marked
afterthought accentuated slowly:--"Yer ain't sick--are yer?"
"No," said Jimmy, firmly. "Been out of sorts now and again this year,"
he mumbled with a sudden drop in his voice.
Donkin closed one eye, amicable and confidential. He whispered:--"Ye
'ave done this afore'aven'tchee?" Jimmy smiled--then as if unable to
hold back he let himself go:--"Last ship--yes. I was out of sorts on the
passage. See? It was easy. They paid me off in Calcutta, and the skipper
made no bones about it either.... I got my money all right. Laid up
fifty-eight days! The fools! O Lord! The fools! Paid right off." He
laughed spasmodically. Donkin chimed in giggling. Then Jimmy coughed
violently. "I am as well as ever," he said, as soon as he could draw
breath.
Donkin made a derisive gesture. "In course," he said, profoundly,
"any one can see that."--"They don't," said Jimmy, gasping like a
fish.--"They would swallow any yarn," affirmed Donkin.--"Don't you let
on too much," admonished Jimmy in an exhausted voice.
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