O cruel Sea! O cruel Sea!
Don’t you ever go and get fresh with me.
I think you’re fine when you don’t act funny,
But I hate you, Sea, when I’m sick in my tummy——”
“That’s a punk rhyme,” laughed Jack.
“Hello! I thought you were asleep,” replied Bee, looking around. “That’s my ‘Ode to the Sea.’ There are seventeen other verses, but I haven’t composed them yet. Some ode, isn’t it? Is old Hal asleep?”
“Not quite, I guess. He’s trying to make himself think he is.”
“How can anyone sleep when you’re making a disturbance like that?” growled Hal. “If he starts again, Jack, heave him overboard, will you?”
“Aye, aye, sir! I’ll keel-haul him if you say so.”
“No, string him to the yard-arm,” murmured Hal.