"I have crossed the ocean three times," remarked Elder Malby, "and escaped the sickness each time. I hope for as good luck now."
"It is a matter of luck, I understand," said Chester. "Sea-sickness is no respecter of persons, times, or so-called preventatives. The weak sometimes escape, while the strong are laid low. I feel all right yet."
The two younger men were fighting bravely, but it was not long before they excused themselves hurriedly, and went below, and to bed. Chester and Elder Malby displayed splendid sea-legs, so they walked until they were tired, then took possession of some chairs in a sheltered corner, wrapping their coats well around them.
"I wish I were going on a mission, as you are," Chester was saying. "My trip is somewhat aimless, I fear. For a year or more I have had a notion that I ought to see Europe. I have seen a good deal of America, both East and West. I lived for some time in Salt Lake City, though I became a Church member in Chicago. But about Europe," he continued as if he did not then wish to speak of his Western experiences, "you know, one must have seen somewhat of the Old World to have the proper 'culture,'—must have seen Europe's pictures, old castles, and historic places. I know little and care less about the culture, but I have always had a desire to see England, and some of France and Germany, and the Alps—yes, I want to see the Alps and compare them with our Rockies. Rome, and other Italian cities, are interesting, too, but I may not get to them this time. I do hope some good will come of all this—somehow I think it will not be wholly in vain."
The older man let him talk without interruption. There was something uncommon in the life of this young man, but it would not do to show undue haste in wishing to know it. It was easily to be seen that Chester was helped in this opportunity to talk to a friend that could understand and be trusted. They sat late that night. The sea roared about them in the darkness. There was a fascination about this thing of seeming life—the ship—forcing itself against wind and wave into the darkness, and bearing safely with it in light and comfort a thousand precious souls.
Chester slept fairly well, and was awake next morning at daylight. Though the ship was pitching and rocking, he felt no indications of sea-sickness. He gazed out of the port-hole at the racing waves. Some of them rose to his window, and he looked into a bank of green water. He got up and dressed. It was good to think he would not be sick. Very few were stirring. A number who were, like himself, immune, were briskly pacing the deck. Chester joined them and looked about. This surely must be a storm, thought he. He had often wished to witness one, from a safe position, of course, and here was one. As far as he could see in every direction, the ocean was one mass of rolling, seething water. At a distance it looked like a boiling pot, but nearer the waves rose higher, the ship's prow cutting them like a knife.
"Quite a storm," said Chester to a man washing the deck.
"Storm? Oh, no, sir; just a bit of a blow."
No one seemed to have any concern regarding the safety of the ship, so Chester concluded that there was no danger, that this was no storm at all, which conclusion was right, as he had later to acknowledge. The sun came up through a wild sea into a wild sky, casting patches of shifting light on the waters to the east. Chester kept a lookout for his friends, the elders. When the breakfast gong sounded, Elder Malby appeared.
"Where are the others?" asked Chester.