Leach, here, or even myself, before it
befel you."
Mr. Monday looked at the speaker as if the intended consolation had failed
of its effect, and the captain began to suspect that he should find a
difficult subject for his new ministrations. By way of gaining time, he
thrust an elbow into the mate's side as a hint that it was now his turn to
offer something.
"It might have been worse, Mr. Monday," observed Leach, shifting his
attitude like a man whose moral and physical action moved _pari passu:_
"it might have been much worse, I once saw a man shot in the under jaw,
and he lived a fortnight without any sort of nourishment!"
Still Mr. Monday gazed at the mate as if he thought matters could not be
much worse.
"That _was_ a hard case," put in the captain; "why, the poor fellow had no
opportunity to recover without victuals.
"No, sir, nor any drink. He never swallowed a mouthful of liquor of any
sort from the time he was hit, until he took the plunge when we threw him
overboard."
Perhaps there is truth in the saying that "misery loves company," for the
eye of Mr. Monday turned towards the table on which the bottle of cordial
still stood, and from John Effingham, had just before helped him to
swallow, under the impression that it was of no moment what he took.
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