“I think it was the sails that caused it,” I argued. “I’ve noticed that he is very afraid of them. When they flap, he crouches down in terror and starts to run. You noticed how he ran with his head turned back?” “I’ve seen dogs with fits do that when there was nothing to frighten them,” Mr. Pike contended. “It was a fit, no matter what caused it,” Miss West stated conclusively. “Which means that he has not been fed properly. From now on I shall feed him. You tell your boy that, Mr. Pathurst. Nobody is to feed Possum anything without my permission.” At this juncture Wada arrived with Possum’s little sleeping box, and they prepared to take him below. “It was splendid of you, Miss West,” I said, “and rash, as well, and I won’t attempt to thank you. But I tell you what-you take him. He’s your dog now.” She laughed and shook her head as I opened the chart-house door for her to pass. “No; but I’ll take care of him for you. Now don’t bother to come below. This is my affair, and you would only be in the way. Wada will help me.” And I was rather surprised, as I returned to my deck chair and sat down, to find how affected I was by the little episode. I remembered, at the first, that my pulse had been distinctly accelerated with the excitement of what had taken place. And somehow, as I leaned back in my chair and lighted a cigarette, the strangeness of the whole voyage vividly came to me. Miss West and I talk philosophy and art on the poop of a stately ship in a circle of flashing sea, while Captain West dreams of his far home, and Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire stand watch and watch and snarl orders, and the slaves of men pull and haul, and Possum has fits, and Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs burn with hatred unconsumable, and the small-handed half-caste Chinese cooks for all, and Sundry Buyers perpetually presses his abdomen, and O’Sullivan raves in the steel cell of the ’midship-house, and Charles Davis lies about him nursing a marlin-spike, and Christian Jespersen, miles astern, is deep sunk in the sea with a sack of coal at his feet. CHAPTER XVII. Two weeks out to-day, on a balmy sea, under a cloud-flecked sky, and slipping an easy eight knots through the water to a light easterly wind. Captain West said he was almost convinced that it was the north-east trade. Also, I have learned that the _Elsinore_, in order to avoid being jammed down on Cape San Roque, on the Brazil coast, must first fight eastward almost to the coast of Africa. On occasion, on this traverse, the Cape Verde Islands are raised. No wonder the voyage from Baltimore to Seattle is reckoned at eighteen thousand miles.