“Nor I,” answered Darry, more soberly than ever.
Dinner was served in the dining saloon at six o’clock, as elaborate a repast as at any leading hotel. But though the first-class passengers numbered forty only a dozen came to the table. Of the boys only Frank and Hockley were present, and it must be confessed that Frank’s appetite was very poor. Hockley appeared to be in the best of spirits and ate heartily.
“This is usually the case,” said the professor, after having seen to it that the others were as comfortable as circumstances permitted. “But it won’t last, and that is a comfort. Hockley, if I were you, I would not eat too heartily.”
“Oh, it won’t hurt me,” was the off-hand answer. “The salt air just suits me. I never felt better in my life.”
“I am glad to hear it, and trust it keeps on doing you good.”
Frank and Mark had a stateroom together and so had Sam and Darry. Hockley had stipulated that he have a stateroom to himself, and this had been provided. The professor occupied a room with a Dutch merchant bound for Curaçao, a jolly, good-natured gentleman, who was soon on good terms with all of the party.
There was but little sleep for any of the boys during the earlier part of the night, for a stiff breeze was blowing and the steamer rolled worse than ever. But by three o’clock in the morning the wind went down and the sea seemed to grow easier, and all fell into a light slumber, from which Mark was the first to awaken.
“I feel better, although pretty weak,” he said, with an attempt at a smile. “How is it with you, Frank?”
“Oh, I didn’t catch it very badly.”
“Did Glummy get sick?”