“I beg ye don’t mintion it——”
Mike stopped abruptly, and pretending to see something interesting in the old rifle, hurried across the room to examine it more closely.
“Good night and pleasant dreams,” called the lady as she passed out, noiselessly closing the door behind her.
It having been agreed that Mike should use the cot, the three prepared for retiring, the mind of each full of the experience of the evening. Both Alvin and Chester wished to speak of the extraordinary voice of Mike, but neither did, for they knew he would prefer they should not. He could not help knowing how greatly he had been favored by nature, and disliked any reminder.
The wick of the lamp was turned down and blown out by Alvin, after glancing around and noting that his companions were ready. Through the raised window, opening over a broad alley, the cool wind stole. It so came about that for several days and nights, including the one of which I am now speaking, the leading cities of the country, embracing even Boston, were suffering from one of the most intense heat waves that ever swept like a furnace blast over most of the States in the Union. But in favored southern Maine it was ideally cool. You could stand a thin covering at night, or you could cast it aside. You were equally comfortable in either situation.
Our young friends ought to have sunk into a sound sleep within a few minutes after lying down, but they did not. Something was on their minds, and the singular fact of it was that the thoughts of each were identically the same, though as yet not a hint had been dropped by anyone.
It was Mike who abruptly spoke:
“I say, Captain, are ye aslaap?”
“I ought to be, but I was never wider awake.”
“How about the second mate?”