The Irish lad was right. Frank believed this, and he ordered everything made tight, while both mainsail and jib was double-reefed, and the topsails taken in.
“I don’t see the good of all this work,” grumbled Diamond. “Here we are rolling around without a breath of wind, and yet we’re taking in sail as if it were blowing a hurricane.”
Frank paid no attention to Jack, who, in a most astonishing manner, had developed into a grumbler since starting out on the bicycle tour across the continent.
Barney, however, was not pleased with the Virginian’s remarks, and he snorted:
“Pwhat’s th’ matther wid yez? It’s a roight shmart bit av a sailor ye’d make—Oi don’t think! Ye’d wait till th’ wind blew, an’ thin ye’d be afther rafing.”
Jack did not fancy being talked to in this manner by the Irish lad. He flushed hotly, and seemed on the point of assaulting Barney, but Mulloy gave indications that he was ready and anxious for a “scrap,” and Diamond thought better of it.
The rolling swell proved decidedly trying for some of the boys, and Diamond was the first to get sick. In fact, he had begun to feel ill when he grumbled about shortening sail.
“Dot poy vas opeyin’ der Pible,” grinned Hans, pointing to Jack, who was leaning over the rail. “Der Pible says, ‘Cast your pread der vater on,’ und py shimminy! he vas doin’ dot, ain’d id!”
Then the Dutch boy opened wide his mouth and laughed heartily. Suddenly he pressed his hands to his stomach and stopped laughing, a queer, troubled look coming to his fat face.
“Shimminy!” he muttered. “I vonder vot der madder mit me vas, don’d id? I nefer felt so queer all mein life in.”