He dived into his pajamas and came below.
“Get into your cabin an’ shut the door,” commanded the yawning voice from the hammock.
“There’s no door.”
“Well, draw the curtain. Oh, Lord! what’s the good o’ gettin’ up? I’m near dead asleep!”
Then the voice of Satan descending the companion ladder.
“Ain’t you up? Well, you wait one minute!”
A thump on the floor, a scurry up the companion ladder, and then shuddery lamentations and the sounds of swilling from the deck above, mixed with the admonitions of Satan from below.
“Oh, my! ain’t it cold? Oh, my! ain’t it frizzin’?”
“Get on, you mad turkle! You ain’t washin’, you’re splashing the water on the deck. Slush it over you.”
“I’m slushing it.”