I'll put a clean dressing on all the same.
DICK.
All right. [_He takes off his coat and rolls up his sleeve. His arm is bandaged, and during the next speeches the_ DOCTOR _puts on a dressing and a clean bandage_.] You must be pretty well done up, aren't you?
DOCTOR.
Just about dropping. But I've got a deuce of a lot more work before I turn in.
DICK.
The thing that amuses me is to remember that I came to Africa thinking I was going to have a rattling good time.
DOCTOR.
You couldn't exactly describe it as a picnic, could you? But I don't suppose any of us knew it would be such a tough job as it's turned out.
DICK.
My friend, if ever I return to my native land, I will never be such a crass and blithering idiot as to give way again to a spirit of adventure.
DOCTOR.
[_With a laugh._] You're not the sort of chap whom one would expect to take to African work. Why the blazes did you come?
DICK.
That's precisely what I've been asking myself ever since we landed in this God-forsaken swamp.
DOCTOR.
The wound looks healthy enough. It'll hardly even leave a scar.
DICK.
I'm glad that my fatal beauty won't be injured.... You see, Alec's about the oldest friend I have. And then there's young Allerton, I've known him ever since he was a kid.
DOCTOR.
That's an acquaintance that most of us wouldn't boast about.
DICK.
I had an idea I'd like Bond Street all the better when I got back. I never knew that I should be eaten alive by every kind of disgusting animal by night and day. I say, Doctor, do you ever think of a rump steak?
DOCTOR.
When?
DICK.
[_With a wave of the hand._] Sometimes, when we're marching under a sun that just about takes the roof of your head off, and we've had the scantiest and most uncomfortable breakfast possible, I have a vision.
DOCTOR.
D'you mind only gesticulating with one arm?
DICK.
I see the dining-room of my club and myself sitting at a little table by the window looking out on Piccadilly, and there's a spotless tablecloth, and all the accessories are spick and span. An obsequious servant brings me a rump steak, grilled to perfection, and so tender that it melts in the mouth. And he puts by my side a plate of crisp, fried potatoes.
Can't you smell them?
DOCTOR.
[_Laughing._] Shut up!
DICK.
And then another obsequious servant brings me a pewter tankard, and into it he pours a bottle, a large bottle, mind you, of foaming ale.
DOCTOR.
You've certainly added considerably to our cheerfulness.
DICK.
[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] I've often been driven to appease the pangs of raging hunger with a careless epigram, and by the laborious composition of a limerick I have sought to deceive a most unholy thirst.
DOCTOR.
Well, last night I thought you'd made your last joke, old man, and that I had given my last dose of quinine.
DICK.
We were in rather a tight corner, weren't we?
DOCTOR.
This is the third expedition I've gone with Mackenzie against the slave-raiders, and I promise you I've never been so certain that all was over with us.
DICK.
Funny thing death is, you know. When you think of it beforehand, it makes you squirm in your shoes, but when you've just got it face to face, it seems so obvious that you forget to be afraid. It's one of my principles never to be impressed by a platitude.
DOCTOR.
It's only by a miracle we escaped. If those Arabs hadn't hesitated to attack us just those ten minutes we should have been wiped out.
DICK.