“No.”
“He’s in luck. How he will crow over us.”
“If he starts to crow we’ll shut him up,” answered Frank, firmly.
They were soon dressed and into the stateroom occupied by Sam and Darry.
“Thanks, I’m myself again,” said Darry. “And why shouldn’t I be? I’m so clean inside I feel fairly polished. I can tell you, there’s nothing like a good dose of mal de mer, as the French call it, to turn one inside out.”
“And how are you, Beans?” asked Mark.
“I think I’m all here, but I’m not sure,” came from Sam. “But isn’t it a shame we should all be sick and Hockley should escape?”
“Oh, he’s so thick-skinned the disease can’t strike through,” returned Frank.
He had scarcely uttered the words when Darry, who had stepped out into the gangway between the staterooms came back with a peculiar smile on his face.
“He’s got ’em,” he said.