"Oh, nonsense," laughed Curtis. "Just pile into that berth for a moment, Hastings, and see what a soft, restful place it is. I'll agree to pull you out, if necessary."
Not realizing much, in his approaching stupor, Hal Hastings allowed himself to be coaxed to stretch himself at full length in the downy berth.
Almost immediately he closed his eyes, drifting off into stupor.
"Why, your friend is drowsy, isn't he?" laughed the bearded one, turning to the submarine skipper.
Jack Benson's own eyelids were suspiciously close together.
"Why—what—ails you?"
Curtis spoke in a low, droning, far-away voice that caused Jack Benson's upper eyelids to sink. Curtis stood watching him, in malicious glee, for some moments. Then, at last, he took hold of the young skipper.
"Come, old fellow," coaxed the bearded one, "you'll do best to join your friend in a good nap. Get up in the berth."
"Lemme alone," protested the boy, thickly, feeling that he was being lifted. Jack struggled, partly rousing himself.
"Come, get up into the berth. You'll be more comfortable there."