"Gorrificious!" exclaimed the cook. "Are you going to sea without us, and carry off all the whiskey?"
I thought, from the movements of the negro, he was carrying off considerable of it; and the fumes of Mr. Whippleton's breath indicated that he had not entirely neglected the bottle. But it did not have a happy effect upon him, as it sometimes does, for he was decidedly ugly. I believe that liquor intensifies whatever emotions may prevail in the mind of the toper while under its influence. Joy is more joyous, grief is more grievous, under its sway; and a man who is ugly when sober is ten times worse when drunk. A man who has an ugly fit is the uglier for the rum he has drunk.
Mr. Whippleton had an ugly fit upon him when he came on board of the Marian. He was probably disappointed and vexed at my conduct, and having drank several glasses of whiskey, he was really so ugly as to make himself very uncomfortable. He filled away the yacht, and, taking the helm, began to rate me over again for my blunders. As we were, to the best of my knowledge and belief, bound to Chicago, I did not care much what he said, and I was willing he should waste his venom in any way he pleased.
The breeze was very light and fitful. We ran out of the lagoon into the open lake, after a while; but there was hardly wind enough there to fill the sails. It was still dull sailing, and I was very sleepy and stupid in spite of the abuse with which Mr. Whippleton regaled me. He had brought his whiskey bottles back with him, and several times he imbibed from one of them. Peter went forward with his bottle, and stretched himself on the forecastle.
The helmsman yawned, and I yawned. The Marian, close-hauled, was not making two knots an hour. We were headed about north-west, which was not nearly so close to the wind as the boat could lay.
"We shall not get to Chicago in twenty-four hours at this rate," said Mr. Whippleton, when he had wasted all his vituperative rhetoric upon me.
"Not in forty-eight, if you don't keep her a little closer to the wind," I replied.
"Do you sail this boat, or do I?" he demanded.
"Well, sir, you and that whiskey bottle appear to be doing it just now; and between you both you are not doing it very well."
"None of your impudence! Perhaps you are conceited enough to think you could do it better."