A Veldt Vendetta

pparently useless pillar running from floor to ceiling, and through the same, could only be that of a mast.

"Feeling better now, sir?"

Two men had glided into the room and were watching me. One was tall, slim, and well made, with a clear-cut face and dark pointed beard, the other red and broad and burly; and when they spoke I recognised the voices I had heard before.

"Yes, thanks. At least I think so," I answered faintly.

"Better give him a tot of rum. That'll bring him to," said the broad red man, in a voice that rumbled.

"Not much. Grog on top of that whack on the head he got would be the death of him. Oh, steward! tell the doctor to send along that broth," he called out to some one outside.

"Where am I?" was my next and obvious question.

"Board the Kittiwake, bound for East London. Cargo, iron rails," answered the broad red man.

"Let's see. You ran me down, didn't you?" I said confusedly.

"Run you down? Well, sonny, you lurched your ir