“Hullo, what’s up?” queried Frank, although he knew perfectly well.
“Nothing’s up,” was the reply, given with an effort. “But I guess there will be something up soon,” and then Sam rushed off to his stateroom, and that was the last seen of him for that day.
Mark was also slightly seasick, and thought best to lie down. Hockley was strolling the deck in deep contempt of those who had been taken ill.
“I can’t see why anybody should get sick,” he sneered. “I’m sure there’s nothing to get sick about.”
“Don’t crow, Glum—I mean Jake,” said Frank. “Your turn may come next.”
“Me? I won’t get sick.”
“Don’t be too sure.”
“I’ll bet you five dollars I don’t get sick,” insisted the lank youth.
“We’re not betting to-day,” put in Darry. “I hope you don’t get sick, but—I wouldn’t be too sure about it.” And he and Frank walked away.
“What an awful blower he is,” said Frank, when they were out of hearing. “As if a person could help being sick if the beastly thing got around to him. I must confess I don’t feel very well myself.”