Huh, the bloomin' _Kansas_ was lost not
once but twenty times."
"Are you in pain, Boyle?" asked Courtenay, placing a gentle hand on his
friend's forehead.
"Not much. More stiff than sore. It was a knock-out blow of its kind.
I can just recall you hauling me out of the scrimmage, and--"
"It will be your turn to do as much for me next time. Try to go to
sleep; we'll have you on deck tomorrow."
Courtenay noticed that there were only four other sufferers in the
saloon: Three were firemen injured by the explosion. He had a pleasant
word for each of them. The fourth was a sailor, either asleep or
unconscious, and Courtenay thought he recognized a severe bruise on the
man's left temple where the butt of his revolver had struck hard.
When he returned on deck he learned that two other members of the crew,
in addition to the cook, were able to work. Walker had set one to
clear up the stokehold; his companion, a fireman, had relieved Mr.
Tollemache. Indeed, the latter had gone to his cabin, and was the last
to arrive at the feast, finally putting in an appearance in a new suit
and spotless linen.
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