“When you give that little imitation of a snore that you do, your mouth half opens and shuts,” Terry explained. “I was just thinking that we might hitch the rope up to your front tooth and have it tolled all night without anyone having to sit up or keep awake!”
“I see. Well, look here. When you are lying under the bell, don’t you ever yawn!”
“And why not?”
“Because we’ll never find it again, and we’ll have to hang you to the mast and shake you back and forth every time we have a fog,” said Jim, soberly.
“Meaning that I’ll swallow the bell, I suppose?”
“Something like that.”
The boys turned in around ten o’clock, thoroughly tired out. Before Don put out the light he looked at the barometer.
“Going down,” he muttered. “Doesn’t look any too good for the morning.”
The last thing that Terry remembered was lying on the gently heaving deck, looking up at a multitude of soft glowing stars. Then a deep sleep fell upon him.