The morning was, in fact, unusually sultry for September, and the wind showed no signs of increasing and cooling the air.
“Well,” replied John Hart, “this is a good morning to sleep, but I don’t know as I would go below if I were you, squire. You know, if a man has any tendency to be squeamish, that is apt to send him off.”
“Yes, I know,” answered the squire; “but it seems so nice and still that I think it won’t disturb me. I’ll just drop off to sleep as easy as a kitten.”
He accordingly descended the companion, looked sharply at Ed Sanders, to satisfy himself that he was sound asleep, and went to the forward end of the cabin.
“Let’s see,” he muttered, “I wonder if the ‘third starboard locker’ means the third from the stern or the third from the bow.”
The squire began opening the lockers along the starboard side, at random, and peering inside.
“We’ll see what sort of an equipment these youngsters have left us,” he exclaimed, aloud.
But, just at this moment, the squire felt a queer sensation, like a strange, quick spasm of dizziness, accompanied by a slight shiver. It was gone the next moment.
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed to himself. “Funny how a man’s imagination works in a cubby-hole like this. I almost thought I was dizzy for a moment. Confound that John Hart! I wish he hadn’t said anything about being seasick. Of course a man can’t be seasick on a quiet day like this. Pooh!”
The squire perhaps had not taken into account, as had John Hart, that, whereas the sea was not ruffled by any chop-sea or breakers, there was still an exceedingly long, almost imperceptible undulation of the bay; a moderate but continuous heaving of the ground-swell, that swayed the boat gently from beam to beam or rocked it slowly from stem to stern. The squire did not realize that it was this that had set his brain momentarily awhirl.