“The Nantucket. It’s a good, solid-looking craft, and I think it will bear us in safety to our destination.” CHAPTER IX THE PASSENGERS The Nantucket, Capt. Jabez Hill, master, was a large vessel, stanch and strong, and bore a good record, having been in service six years, and never having in that time met a serious disaster. It was a sailing vessel, and primarily intended to convey freight, but had accommodations for six passengers. Of these it had a full complement. Harry and the professor I name first, as those in whom we are most interested. Next came John Appleton, a business man from Melbourne, who had visited the United States on business. He was a plain, substantial-looking person, of perhaps forty-five. Next came Montgomery Clinton, from Brooklyn, a young man of twenty-four, foolishly attired, who wore an eyeglass and anxiously aped the Londen swell, though born within sight of Boston State house. Harry regarded him with considerable amusement, and though he treated him with outward respect, mentally voted him very soft. Fifth on the list was a tall, sallow, thin individual, with a melancholy countenance, who was troubled with numerous symptoms, and was persuaded that he had not long to live. He was from Pennsylvania. He carried with him in his trunk a large assortment of pills and liquid medicines, one or another of which he took about once an hour. This gentleman’s name was Marmaduke Timmins. Last came a tall, lean Yankee, the discoverer and proprietor of a valuable invention, which it was his purpose to introduce into Australia. Mr. Jonathan Stubbs, for this was his name, was by no means an undesirable addition to the little circle, and often excited a smile by his quaintly put and shrewd observations on topics of passing interest. It was the third day at sea, when Harry, who had suffered but little from seasickness, came on deck, after a good dinner, and saw the dudish passenger, till now invisible, holding himself steady with an effort, and gazing sadly out upon the wild waste of waters without the help of his eyeglass. “How do you feel, Mr. Clinton?” asked Harry. “Horribly, Mr. Vane,” answered Clinton, with a languid shudder. “I never thought it was such a bore, crossing the ocean, don’t you know. I’ve a great idea of offering the captain a handsome sum to land somewhere, I don’t care where.” “I don’t think we shall go near any land, Mr. Clinton. I think you will have to make the best of it.” Hearing a step behind him, Harry turned, and his eyes rested on the melancholy countenance of Marmaduke Timmins, the chronic invalid. “Good-morning, Mr. Timmins,” said our hero. “I hope you stand the voyage well?” “I’ve had several new symptoms since I came on board,” responded Mr. Timmins, gloomily, “and I’ve made a dreadful discovery.” “What is it?” inquired Montgomery Clinton, in alarm. “I find I’ve mislaid or forgotten to bring my box of Remedial pills. I don’t know what I shall do without them.”