Jack went on deck. He found Burnett stretched pale and green upon the chairs their lady guest had vacated.
“If you speak to me again,” he said, in halting accents, “I’ll never speak to you again. Get out.”
Jack went back to his place at dinner.
“How are they?” asked Clover.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly, “but there’s a big storm coming up. The sky’s all dark blue and it looks bad.”
“I don’t care,” said Mitchell, sawing into the game with vigor; “if we go down we go down with Aunt Mary and if I were Uncle Mary I wouldn’t feel happier and safer as to all concerned. The ship that bore Cæsar and his fortune had nothing at all to bear compared to this which bears Jack and his. Here’s to Jack and his fortune, and may we all survive the dark blue sky.”
“I tell you it’s serious,” said Jack. As he spoke another ominous heaving set the bottles tipping and nearly sent Clover backwards.
“And I’m serious,” exclaimed Mitchell. “I’m always serious only I never can get any girl to believe it. Here’s to me, and may I grow more and more serious each—”
A tremendous wave bore the yacht upright and then let her fall on her forelegs again. Clover went over backwards and the dish of peas to which he had just been helping himself followed after.
“You didn’t say ‘excuse me’ when you left the table,” said Mitchell, whom the law of gravitation had suddenly raised to a pinnacle from which he viewed his friends with mirthful scorn; “and if you’ve hurt yourself it must be a judgment on you for leaving the table without saying ‘excuse me.’ Here’s to Clover, who has a judgment and a dish of peas served on him at the same time for leaving the table without saying ‘excuse me.’”