Page 152 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

ture.
Gabbett—for it was he—passed one great hand over his
face, and leaning exactly in the position in which Troke
placed him, scowled, bewildered, at his visitors.
‘Well, Gabbett,’ says Vickers, ‘you’ve come back again,
you see. When will you learn sense, eh? Where are your
mates?’
The giant did not reply.
‘Do you hear me? Where are your mates?’
‘Where are your mates?’ repeated Troke.
‘Dead,’ says Gabbett.
‘All three of them?’
‘Ay.’
‘And how did you get back?’
Gabbett, in eloquent silence, held out a bleeding foot.
‘We found him on the point, sir,’ said Troke, jauntily ex-
plaining, ‘and brought him across in the boat. He had a
basin of gruel, but he didn’t seem hungry.’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why don’t you eat your gruel?’
Gabbett curled his great lips.
‘I have eaten it. Ain’t yer got nuffin’ better nor that to flog
a man on? Ugh! yer a mean lot! Wot’s it to be this time, Ma-
jor? Fifty?’
And laughing, he rolled down again on the logs.
‘A nice specimen!’ said Vickers, with a hopeless smile.
‘What can one do with such a fellow?’
‘I’d flog his soul out of his body,’ said Frere, ‘if he spoke

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