Soon the regular evening concert began. The voices of the sailors were stilled; under the spell of the music many heads drooped, many tired eyes closed for a few moments of delicious sleep. “Isn’t it glorious?” breathed Dan. “It might be if things weren’t so upside down,” complained Sam. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well?” “I have felt better,” answered Sam in a husky voice. “I guess I’ll take a walk.” His walk did not last long. Sam took a turn once across the deck, then settled down beside his companion, holding his head between his hands. “Why, Sam, are you really ill?” questioned Dan, his voice full of concern. “Ill? I think I’m going to die. Ugh!” Sam stretched out on the deck flat on his back. “Sam Hickey, I believe you are seasick,” exclaimed Dan. Sam’s only answer was a long-drawn moan. CHAPTER XIII—RESENTING AN INSULT The services of two jackies were required to boost Hickey into his hammock that night at nine o’clock, when hammocks were piped up. At five o’clock next morning, when the bugle piped all hands out, the red-haired Jackie was in a sad state. His hair was standing up like the quill of a porcupine, fairly bristling with disorder. When Dan helped him down to the deck Sam fell in a heap. “Brace up!” urged Dan. “Don’t let them think you a landlubber.” “I don’t care what they think. I’m a sick man.” “Never mind; you will feel better after you get some hot breakfast inside of you.” “Breakfast! Waugh!” Dan helped his chum to the shower baths, where Sam took a cold bath that tuned him up considerably. He was still very uncertain on his feet, however, as he made his way forward for his deck swab, for the first duty of the day was to take up his occupation of swabbing decks. Sam’s footsteps lagged that morning. He was several paces behind the other swabbers all the time. “What’s the matter, red-head?” questioned one of the jackies. “I’m sick, that’s all.” “Trying to work the list, eh?” asked another. “I don’t know what working the list may be, but I’m anything you want to call me.” “He means getting on the binnacle list,” “What’s that?” wondered Sam. “Being excused by the doctor for one day on account of a fit of laziness that makes a fellow think he’s sick.” “I don’t think; I know,” was the lad’s muttered response. However, Sam resolutely stuck to his work, though every plunge of the battleship threatened him with a final collapse to the deck. Somehow, he managed to pull himself through that long morning without, as he called it, “disgracing myself.” When the command came, “knock off scrubbing decks,” Sam broke ranks and ran for the forecastle. He did not dare trust himself to walk, for he feared he would be unable to keep on his feet.