The stateroom steward was standing over him, bullying him with a cup of black tea, which he insisted upon his taking, whether or no. "If he drinks it, sir, he will have something to throw up; which will be better for him than all this empty retching. And after he has thrown up he will be all right, and be able to get up and eat his breakfast and go on deck," said the man, appealing to Ishmael. "Ishmael, kick that rascal out of my room, and break his neck and throw him overboard!" cried the judge, in anguish and desperation. "Friend, don't you know better than to exasperate a seasick man? Leave him to me until he is better," said Ishmael smiling on the well-meaning steward. "But, sir, if he would drink this tea he would throw up and--" "Ishmael, will you strangle that diabolical villain and pitch him into the sea?" thundered the judge. The "diabolical villain" raised his disengaged hand in deprecation and withdrew, carrying the cup of tea in the other. "And now, Ishmael, take yourself off, and leave me in peace. I hate you! and I loathe the whole human race!" Ishmael left the stateroom, meditating on the demoralizing nature of seasickness. He next visited Mr. Brudenell, whom he found in a paroxysm of illness, with another stateroom steward holding the basin for him. "Ugh! ugh! ugh!" moaned the victim. "This heaving, rising, falling sea! And this reeling, pitching, tossing ship! If it would only stop for one moment! I should be glad of anything that would stop it-- even a fire!" "I am sorry to see you suffering so much, sir! Can I do anything for you?" inquired Ishmael sympathetically. "Ugh! ugh! ugh! No! Hold the basin for me again, Bob! No, Ishmael, you can do nothing for me! only do go away! I hate anyone to see me in this debasing sickness! for it is debasing, Ishmael! Ugh! the basin, Bob! quick!" Ishmael backed out in double-quick time. And next he found his way to the second cabin, to the bedside of the professor. Apparently Jim Morris had just suffered a very severe paroxysm; for he lay back on his pillow with pale, sharp, sunken features and almost breathless lungs. "I am sorry to see you so ill, professor," said Ishmael tenderly, laying his hand on the old man's forehead. "It is nothing, Mr. Ishmael, sir, only a little seasickness, as all the passengers have. I dare say it will soon be over. I am only concerned because I can't come and wait on you," said the professor, speaking faintly, and with a great effort. "Never mind that, dear old friend. I can wait on myself very well; and on you, too, while you need attention." "Oh, Mr. Ishmael, sir! You are much too kind; but I shall be all right in a little time, and am so glad you are not sick, too." "No; I am not sick, Morris. But I am afraid that you have been suffering very much," said Ishmael, as he noticed the old man's pallid countenance.