"Look here, Denham," said the doctor; "you're an ill-tempered,
ungrateful, soured, discontented young beggar. You deserve to surfer.--
And as for you, sir," he continued, turning to me, "you're not much
better."
That was when we were what the doctor called convalescent--that is to
say, it was about a fortnight after our terrible experience in the old
mine-shaft, and undoubtedly fast approaching the time when we might
return to duty.
"Anything else, sir?" said Denham sharply.