I stood commenting idly to myself upon this incident, which, slight
though it was, appeared to have significance of a kind, when Hungerford,
the fifth officer, caught me slyly by the arm and said, "Lucky fellow!
Nothing to do but watch the world go by. I wish I had you in the North
Atlantic on a whaler, or in the No Man's Sea on a pearl-smack for a
matter of thirty days."
"What would come of that, Hungerford?" said I.
"An exchange of matter for mind, Marmion; muscle for meditation, physics
for philosophy."
"You do me too much honour; at present I've neither mind, meditation, nor
philosophy; I am simply vegetating."
"Which proves you to be demoralised. I never saw a surgeon on a ship who
wasn't. They began with mind--more or less--they ate the fruits of
indolence, got precious near being sinful as well as indolent, and ended
with cheap cynicism, with the old 'quid refert'--the thing Hamlet
plagiarised in his, 'But it is no matter.'"
"Isn't this an unusual occupation for you, Hungerford--this Swift-like
criticism?"
"Swift-like, is it? You see, I've practised on many of your race,
Marmion, and I have it pat now.
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