"Most interesting study," he said, faintly, to Hardy, as the latter sat
by his bedside one evening and tried to cheer him in the usual way by
telling him that there was nothing the matter with him. "There are
dozens of different forms of liver complaint alone, and I've got 'em
all."
"Liver isn't much," said his visitor, with the confidence of youth.
"Mine is," retorted the invalid; "it's twice its proper size and still
growing. Base of the left lung is solidifying, or I'm much mistaken; the
heart, instead of waltzing as is suitable to my time of life, is doing a
galop, and everything else is as wrong as it can be."
"When are you coming back?" inquired the other.
"Back?" repeated Swann. "Back? You haven't been listening. I'm a
wreck. All through violating man's primeval instinct by messing about in
cold water. What is the news?"
Hardy pondered and shook his head. "Nugent is going to be married in
July," he said, at last.
"He'd better have had that trip on the whaler," commented Mr. Swann; "but
that is not news. Nathan Smith told it me this morning."
"Nathan Smith?" repeated the other, in surprise.
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