“Sure! Cheer up, Dad—we’ll weather it yet.”
“Don’t mind me, Bill. I’m—that is, I’m not feeling quite myself. Haven’t since we came down, as a matter of fact. I’ve never been—seasick—before—” Mr. Bolton’s voice sounded rather feeble.
“It’s the motion, combined with the smell of gasoline, Dad. Every naval flyer knows that feeling, your son included, at this particular time. You’ll feel better when you’re empty.”
“I certainly hope so,” faltered Mr. Bolton.
“Just let your mind rest on a fatty piece of pork swimming in its own hot grease, for a starter,” Bill suggested, grinning to himself.
“Mmmm—” Bill’s father stood up suddenly and leaned far overside.
His son followed suit almost immediately.
Presently they returned to their places, weak and empty, but considerably more comfortable.
“I wonder why the thought of fat pork always gets one going,” mused Bill, handing his father the water bottle.
Mr. Bolton slaked his thirst and handed it back, whereupon Bill took a couple of long pulls.