A steady wind had begun to blow, whistling through the rigging and giving the steamer a most unpleasant motion known as the “cork-screw.” That is to say, she neither pitched all the time nor rolled all the time, but kept up an aggravating combination of both. Dave was getting rather white in consequence, and did not by any means feel sure of his legs. He had a strong desire to lie down and wait until he got used to the motion, but there were many things for him to do. In the middle of this the steward popped his head into the galley. “Shake up the skipper’s dinner in a hurry,” he said. “The old man says he wants it right now. I’m going to fix up the table, so send the kid on with the soup soon as you can.” “Tell the captain to go to Jerusalem,” spluttered Barnes, who hated to be hurried. “Reg’lar dog’s life, this is. Here, Dave, take this soup along to the steward, and get a move on.” David, anxious to do his best, but feeling more shaky than ever, took the plate and hurried, according to instructions. Even without the soup he would have found it most difficult to retain his balance; as it was, he only kept upright by a miracle. His mind was concentrated solely on his task, and there was no reason for him to suppose that Mr. Quick would come around the corner suddenly. Before the boy had the slightest warning, the apparition of Mr. Quick towered in front of him. Both the mate and the boy were apparently in a hurry. Dave realized what was inevitable a fiftieth part of a second before it happened, but he was utterly powerless to prevent the disaster. The plate struck Mr. Quick just about on the lowest button of his waistcoat, and Dave, being unable to check himself, followed the plate. Mr. Quick gave a yell of pain, for the soup, which trickled its greasy course down his trousers, was scalding hot. Dave remembered that fact while he was scrambling to his feet with one eye on the mate’s red hair, which appeared to bristle and stand erect. “I’m very sorry, sir,” the boy stammered. “The boat swayed just then.” [Illustration: “I’m very sorry, sir,” the boy stammered] Mr. Quick’s arm was raised and an angry light shone in his eyes. “You lubberly pup!” he bellowed. “I’ll teach you better manners than to throw soup over an officer of the ship. She swayed, did she? Then this is where you sway!” and he struck at the boy with a huge fist.