"And if," answered the captain, for it was he whom the mate had addressed, "if it doesn't blow more big guns, if you don't lose the sticks out of her by cracking on too much, and if—if—oh! there's lots of other ifs."
"If, for instance," said a younger voice to leeward of the captain, "IT doesn't appear again and scare the men to death."
"Why, Fred Arundel, are you there, lad? I didn't notice you, as you're not smoking. But no, I think we've left IT down to the south. Though you're not superstitious, are you, lad?"
"N——no; that is, not much, you know, only I had a queer dream last night."
"Ah! a dreamer of dreams are you? Well, tell us your dream. It's just a night for a song or a story."
"Well, you know, sir, I don't believe in dreams as a rule, they are generally so silly and upside-down-like. But this one was so vivid that I feel quite certain poor Frank is either dead and gone, or I shall soon see him again alive and well."
"It seems to me, Fred, that the dream reads in either direction. But who is Frank? You haven't told us that yet."
"Didn't I? I feel somehow as if everybody should know Frank. But Frank is—a—well, Frank is—Frank, you know."
"To be sure. I don't doubt you."
"Oh, excuse me, sir, for being so very stupid! Well, Frank Fielding is, or, heigho! was, my dearest friend on earth, we loved each other so; and when we were shipwrecked on a lonely island together we shook hands, and vowed we'd be brothers till death. And——"