"Id purns ven id goes town, like id vas a dorch-light brocession," observed Carl luminously. "I don'd like dot, but I vas hungry, so I trink him. Whoosh!"
"It's certainly hot and bitter," said Matt, and put down his cup after two or three swallows.
"That steamer is gettin' closer to us, Matt," announced Speake, fumbling with the wheel and looking at the periscope.
"Steady, there, Speake!" cautioned Matt.
"I don't know what's the matter with me," muttered Speake, "but my nerves are all in a quiver. She's small, that steamer; one funnel, black, with a red band. I don't jest recollect what line—that—is."
He drawled out the last words.
"Py shiminy grickets!" said Carl, "I feel sick py der shdomach, und eferyt'ing iss virling und virling."
"Dowse me," put in Dick, "I'm dizzy, too!"
"And I," murmured Glennie, setting aside his plate and empty cup. "I—I believe I'll lie down."
He got up from the stool on which he was sitting, and floundered to the top of the locker. Pushing a hand around to his hip pocket, he drew out a revolver that interfered with his comfort, dropped it on the floor, and fell back limply.