“I wanted to live to change my will,” she said sadly, as he laid her down, “but somehow I don’t seem to care for nothin’ no more.”
He kissed her hand.
“They say being seasick is awfully good for people, Aunt Mary,” he yelled contritely.
Aunt Mary opened her eyes.
“John Watkins, Jr., Denham,” she said, “if you say ‘food’ to me again ever, I’ll never leave you a penny—so there!”
Jack went away and left her.
“Come on to dinner, Burnett,” Clover called hilariously, “there’s liver with little bits of bacon—your favorite dish.”
Burnett snarled the weakest kind of a snarl.
“I thought I’d suffered enough for one year last month,” he murmured in a voice too low to be heard, and then he knew himself to be alone on deck.
Down in the little dining-saloon the dishes were hopping merrily back and forth and an agreeable odor of agreeable viands filled the air. Clover and Jack sat down opposite their host and they all three ate and drank with a zest that knew no breaking waves nor sad effects.