"You may go! You may go to Hongkong for me!" shouted half-a-dozen little waves together, pulling the ship several ways at once. She rolled stately, and from that moment settled down to the work of the evening. I cannot blame her, for I am sure she did not know her own strength. It didn't hurt her to be on her side, and play cat-and-mouse, and puss-in-the corner, and hide-and-seek, but it destroyed the passengers. One by one they sank into long chairs and gazed at the sky. But even there the little white moved, and there was not one stable thing in heaven above or the waters beneath. My virtuous and very respectable stomach behaved with integrity and resolution. I treated it to a gin cocktail, which I sucked by the side of the strong man, who told me in confidence that he had been overcome by the sun at the fo'c'sle. Sun fever does not make people cold and clammy and blue. I sat with him and tried to make him talk about the _Florida_ and his voyages in the past. He evaded me and went down below. Three minutes later I followed him with a thick cheroot. Into his bunk I went, for I knew he would be helpless. He was--he was--he was. He wallowed supine, and I stood in the doorway smoking. "What is it?" said I. He wrestled with his pride--his wicked pride--but he would not tell a lie. "It," said he. And it was so. * * * * * The rolling continues. The ship is a shambles, and I have six places on each side of me all to myself. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 10: "Turnovers," Vol. I.] A FALLEN IDOL[11]