CHAPTER XIII.
JONATHAN TARBOX, OF SQUASHBORO'.
A great steamer was plowing its way through the Atlantic waves. Fifteen hundred miles were traversed, and nearly the same remained to be crossed. The sea had been rough in consequence of a storm, and even now there was considerable motion. A few passengers were on deck, among them our young hero, who felt better in the open air than in the closer atmosphere below; besides, he admired the grandeur of the sea, spreading out on all sides of him, farther than his eyes could reach. He had got over his first sadness at parting with his mother, and he was now looking forward with the most eager anticipation to setting foot upon European soil.
He shared a state-room with Sharpley, but the latter spent little time in the boy's company. He had discovered some congenial company among the other passengers, and spent most of the time smoking with them or playing cards below. Frank did not miss him much, as he found plenty to engage his attention on board.
As he stood looking out on the wild waste of waters, trying to see if anywhere he could discover another vessel, he was aroused by the salutation:
"I say, you boy!"
Looking around, he saw a tall, thin man, dressed in a blue swallow-tail coat with brass buttons, a high standing dickey, and pants three or four inches too short in the legs. He was an admirable specimen of the Yankee—as he is represented on the stage—an exceptional specimen, though some of our foreign friends may regard him as the rule. It was not the first time Frank had seen him. Two or three times he had appeared at the table; but he had been stricken with seasickness, and for the greater part of the voyage thus far had remained in his state-room.
"Good morning, sir," said Frank, politely. "You have been seasick, haven't you?"
"Seasick! I guess I have," returned the other, energetically. "I thought I was goin' to kick the bucket more'n once."
"It is not a very agreeable feeling," said Frank.