“Yes; we don’t take any deadheads on the Columbia.”
“Can you tell me what time it is?”
“About twelve o’clock. Do you feel hungry?”
“N—not very,” returned Dodger, as a ghastly expression came over his face, and he tumbled back into his berth, looking very pale.
The steward smiled.
“I see how it is,” he said; “you are getting initiated.”
“What’s that?” muttered Dodger, feebly.
“You’re going to be seasick. You’ll hardly be able to appear at the dinner table.”
“It makes me sick to think of eating,” said Dodger, feebly.
As he sank back into his berth, all thoughts of his unexpected position gave way to an overpowering feeling of seasickness.