“Too bad,” remarked Mr. Holton, closing the door of the stateroom after cautiously peeping in. “Perhaps their next voyage—if they take any more—will be free from unpleasantness.”
Throughout the remainder of that day the boys’ condition remained unchanged. If anything, they were worse off than before, and neither would look at a bite of food of any kind.
“This is terrible,” moaned Joe to his father, the professor, and Mr. Holton, who went in to see how the youths were.
“Cheer up,” Mr. Holton said in lively tones. “You can surely stand a couple of more days.”
He was right. It was two days later when the boys began to show signs of recovery. Then only very slowly did they resume their natural cheerfulness.
“Too bad we had to miss so much,” mourned Bob. “But I’ll admit there wasn’t much to see.”
“Nothing but water,” said Joe and then turned to go into the cabin. As he did so he happened to glance down at the stern and pointed for Bob to follow his gaze.
Leaning against the rail were the boys’ fathers conversing with an elderly bearded man, with a uniform that distinguished him as the ship’s captain. He seemed good-natured and humorous, for occasionally he would cause the men to laugh so hard that they would have to grip the rail to maintain their balance.
“Come over, boys,” Mr. Holton said, glancing up.