Tim shook his head; he remembered the invitation given by Sam Simpson, and how it had been seconded by his parents, and he did not care for more of the same experience.
“But you can’t stay here an’ let Captain Pratt knock you ’round.”
Tim assented to this; but still he did not see how he could prevent it, unless he was willing to risk suffering in another form.
“I s’pose I’ll have to go up-stairs an’ show the captain that I ain’t in bed,” he said, as a shudder of sea-sickness came over him again. “It must be as much as ten minutes since I was there.”
“I wouldn’t go,” said Bobby, stoutly; “I wouldn’t let him think I was afraid of him.”
“But I am afraid of him, an’ so would you be if he was to beat you once the way he has me;” and then he started for the deck again.
This time he did not attempt to enter the wheel-house, but stood by the rail outside, where the captain could see him, and leaned over the side until it seemed to him that everything he had eaten for the past month was thrown to the fishes.
It was impossible for him to have waited on the captain at the table that day, even if he had been called upon so to do; but Mr. Rankin had told him that he need not come into the cabin until he had recovered, and he was truly thankful for that permission to remain away, as he hoped next day to be himself again.
The steamer had sailed at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, and by two o’clock Tim was so sick that the very worst punishment Captain Pratt could have devised would not have troubled him in the least.
The vessel tossed and plunged as if she were bent on going to the bottom of the sea at the first opportunity, and Tim, in his berth, with the faithful Bobby at his side trying to cheer and comfort him, felt that he would not raise his hand to help himself even though he knew the Pride of the Wave was foundering.