“Do you think he would like to see any of us?” asked Sam. “We’ll go willingly if you think best.”
“No, he said he wished to see no one but myself, Winthrop. You will do best to let him alone, and when he comes out I wouldn’t say anything about the affair,” concluded the professor.
To while away the time the boys went over the steamer from end to end, and an obliging under-officer explained the engines, the steering gear and other things of interest to them. So the time passed swiftly enough until it was again the hour to retire.
Hockley appeared about ten o’clock on the following morning, thinner than ever and with big rings under his eyes. He declined to eat any breakfast and was content to sit by himself in a corner on deck.
“I suppose you fellows think I was seasick,” he said, as Sam and Darry passed close to him. “But if you do, you are mistaken. I ate something that didn’t agree with me and that threw me into a regular fit of biliousness. I get them every six months or so, you know.”
“I didn’t know,” returned Darry, who had never seen Hockley sick in his life. “But I’m glad you are over it,” he went on, kindly.
“I suppose Frank and Mark are laughing in their sleeves at me,” went on the lank youth, with a scowl.
“I don’t believe they are thinking of it,” answered Sam. “We’ve been inspecting the ship from top to bottom and stem to stern, and that has kept us busy. You ought to go around, it’s really very interesting.”
“Pooh! I’ve been through ’em loads of times—on the regular Atlantic liners,—twice as big as this,” grumbled Hockley.
A few words more followed, and Sam and Darry passed on. “He’s all right again,” observed Darry. “And his seasickness didn’t cure him of his bragging either.”