Oliver gave him a searching glance.
“Gus Gregory, you’re seasick!” he cried.
“Not a bit of it; I’m only a bit dizzy,” was the hopeful reply.
But he had hardly spoken the words before Gus swallowed a lump in his throat and then rushed for the side. Oliver, who felt perfectly well, could not help but laugh.
He went to dinner alone. The table was more than three-quarters deserted—nearly every one was under the weather. When he came from the dining-saloon he found his chum in the stateroom flat on the floor.
“What! as bad as this?” he asked kindly.
“Don’t say a word!” moaned Gus. “I’ll never travel on the water again, never! I wish the steamer was at the bottom of the sea, and myself with it.”
He continued to roll and moan for the rest of the day. Oliver tried to help him in various ways, but it was of no avail. There is nothing to do but to let seasickness run its course.
The boys never forgot that first night on shipboard. Several times Oliver’s head began to swim from the motion, which towards morning grew worse. He slept but little, and was one of the first on deck.
“We are getting into the neighborhood of Cape Hatteras,” said a gentleman standing near. “It is always rough here, but more than usually so now.”