"Ah, that's because you don't try to master it. Hasn't Doctor Instow told you that you ought to try and get the better of it?" "Yes; but what is the use of telling me that?" groaned Jack, with his eyes shut; but he opened them directly and gazed discontentedly at the man, as if feeling that it was hard and unfair of fate to let the servant recover while the master was so ill. "Are you quite well again?" "Me, sir? Oh yes, sir," said Edward carelessly. "And I--I feel as if I shall never live to go far." "Ah, that's the way of it, sir, I felt just like that; but you'll come all right again before you know where you are. Like me to get you a bit of anything, sir? The kitchen place is splendid, and the cook would knock you up something nice in no time. What do you say to an omelet, sir?" Jack ground his teeth at the man, and then closed his eyes and feebly turned his back. "Poor chap, he has got it bad," muttered the convalescent, as he went out of the cabin on tip-toe. "But I don't think he's quite so bad as I was, after all." CHAPTER NINE. "WHEN THE RAGING SEAS DO ROAR." Jack Meadows started up in his berth with a great fear upon him, and he started down again with the great fear turned for the moment into a great pain, caused by his having struck his forehead sharply, for about the tenth time, against the top of his berth. "Am I never going to recollect what a miserable, narrow, boxed-up place it is," he said to himself angrily. Then the fear came back, and he rolled out feeling confused and horrified. He had turned in over-night without undressing, further than taking off jacket, waistcoat, and boots, so that he was almost dressed, for he had lain down in terror to rest himself so as to be quite ready if an alarm was given that the yacht was sinking; and he knew now that he must have been asleep, for it was early morning by the pale grey light which stole in through the glass. The weather seemed to be worse, the yacht pitching and tossing, and there was a dull, creaking, horrible sound which kept on, but was smothered out at intervals by a tremendous bump, which was always followed by a sound as if the vessel had sailed up the rapids of Niagara river and then beneath the falls. The confusion increased with the noise, and, holding on with one hand, Jack pressed the other to his forehead as he stared straight before him at a big tin box which appeared to his sleep-muddled brain to be walking about the saloon table, when he opened the tiny state-room door. Yes, there was no mistake about it; that box was alive, just as frightened as he was by the fearful storm, and was trying to escape, for all of a sudden, after edging its way to the end of the table, it made a bound, leaped to the floor, and began to creep and jump toward the door at the foot of the cabin stairs.