—Well, sir, what was Dr. Reikie teaching you?"
"Oh," said the captain, laughing, "just as you came down we were away somewhere in the star depths—beyond the nebulæ, I think."
Sturdy had poured himself out a glass of rum in a tumbler—a sort of bos'n's nip, four fingers high. This was a chance for the doctor to have a shot at the lieutenant.
"I say, Sturdy," he said, "talking about nebulæ, if you drink all that rum you'll have a nebulous noddle in the mornin'."
"Yes," continued the captain, "we were off and away into the vastness of the star depths. We had got far beyond Sirius, and never gone once on shore. The doctor was telling me that light travels at the rate of 186,000 miles a second! I say, Mr. Sturdy, how many knots is that an hour?"
"Computations like that, sir," said Reikie, trying another shot, "it would be in vain for Sturdy to attempt in his present condition. Wait, sir, till he has another nip."
Sturdy was silent.
Sturdy was hungry. The biscuits disappeared before him as if by magic. Then he attacked the nuts, and presently settled quietly down to the raisins.
Captain Gillespie's cabin was right abaft the wardroom, with a separate staircase to it, and a steward's pantry at the foot thereof. It was very tastefully furnished—at his own expense of course—and at one end stood a small but good piano, and hanging near it a fiddle. The captain was very fond of music, and so was the surgeon; and the fiddle belonged to the latter.
"Do play, sir," said Sturdy now, "to drown the raging of the storm.—Come, Auld Reikie," he continued, "screw up your Cremona."