The short-lived delusion begins to fade. The low, bad, unimpressible face is coming up from the depths of the river, or what other depths, to the surface again. As he grows warm, the doctor and the four men cool. As his lineaments soften with life, their faces and their hearts harden to him.

“He will do now,” says the doctor, washing his hands, and looking at the patient with growing disfavour.

“Many a better man,” moralizes Tom Tootle with a gloomy shake of the head, “ain’t had his luck.”

“It’s to be hoped he’ll make a better use of his life,” says Bob Glamour, “than I expect he will.”

“Or than he done afore,” adds William Williams.

“But no, not he!” says Jonathan of the no surname, clinching the quartet.