e other, speaking now more sociably.

"Horrible it is, sir, as our fellows say. Well, live and learn, and
I've learned one thing, and that is if I retire from the service as
Captain--no, I'll be modest--Commander Murray, R.N., I shall not come
and settle on the West Coast of Africa."

"Settle on the West Coast of Africa, with its fevers and horrors? I
should think not!" said the other. "Phew! How hot it is! Bah!" he
half snorted angrily.

"What's the matter now?"

"That brass rail. I placed my hand upon it--regularly burned me."

"Mem for you, old chap--don't do it again. But, I say, what is the good
of our hanging about here? We shall do no good, and it's completely
spoiling the skipper's temper."

"Nonsense! Can't be done."

"Oh, can't it, Ricardo!"

"There you go again."

"_Pardon, mon ami_! Forgot myself. Plain Richard--there. But that's
wrong. One can't call you plain Richard, because you're such a
good-looking chap."

"Bah!" in a deep angry growl.

"What's that wrong too? Oh, what an unlucky beggar I am! But I say,
didn't you see the skipper?"

"I saw him, of course. But what about him? I saw nothing particular."

"Old Anderson went up to him as politely as a first lieutenant could--"

"I say, Frank, look here," cried the other; "can't you say downright
what you have to say, without prosing about like the jolly old preface
to an uninteresting book?"

"No, dear boy," replied the young fellow addressed; "I can't really.
It's the weather."

"Hang the weather!" cried the other petulantly.

"Not to be done, dear boy. To hang calls for a rope and the yard-arm,
and there's nothing tangible about the weather. You should say--that
is, if you wish to be ungentlemanly and use language unbecoming to an
officer in His Majesty's service--Blow the weather!"

"Oh, bosh, bosh, bosh! You will not be satisfied till I've kicked you,
Frank."

"Oh, don't--pray don't, my dear fellow, because you will force me to
kick you again, and it would make me so hot. But I say, wasn't I going
to tell you something about old Anderson and the skipper?"

"No--yes!--There, I don't know. Well, what was it?"

"Nothing," said Frank Murray, yawning. "Oh, dear me, how sleepy I am!"

"Well, of all the aggravating--"

"That's right: go on. Say it," said Murray. "I don't know what you
were going to call me, dear boy, but I'm sure it would be correct.
That's just what I am. Pray go on. I'm too hot to hit