"That explains everything." Kirk sighed thankfully and closed his eyes once more, for the doctor had begun to revolve slowly, with the bed as an axis. "How are the other boys coming on?" "Everybody is laid out. It's a bad night." "Night? It must be nearly daylight by this time." "Oh no! It is not midnight yet." "Not midnight? Why, I didn't turn in until--" Anthony raised himself suddenly. "Good Lord! have I slept all day?" "You certainly have." "Whose room is this?" "Your room, of course. Here, take one of these capsules; it will settle your stomach." "Better give me something to settle my bill if I've been here that long. I'm broke again." "You're not fully awake yet," said the doctor. "People have funny ideas when they're sick." "Well, I know I'm broke, anyhow! That's no idea; it's a condition. I went through my clothes just now and I'm all in. I must get back to the Astor, too, for I had arranged to motor up to New Haven at noon." "Let me feel your pulse," said the doctor, quietly. "The boys will think I'm lost. I never did such a thing before." "Where do you think you are?" inquired the physician. "I don't know. It's a nice little hotel, but--" "This isn't a hotel. This is a ship." Anthony was silent for a moment. Then he sighed feebly and said: "Doctor, you shouldn't make fun of a man at the point of death. It isn't professional." "Fact," said the doctor, abstractedly gazing at his watch, while he held Anthony's wrist between his fingers. "We are one hundred and fifty miles out of New York. The first officer told me you were considerably intoxicated when you came aboard, but," he continued brusquely, rising and closing his watch with a snap, "you will remember it all in a little while, Mr. Locke." "What did you call me?" "Locke. You haven't forgotten your name, too?" "Wait!" Again Anthony pressed his throbbing temples with both hot hands and strove to collect his whirling wits. At last he began to speak, measuring his words with care. "Now, I KNOW you are wrong, Doctor, and I'll tell you why. You see, my name isn't Locke; it's Anthony. Locke went away on a ship, but _I_ stayed in New York; understand? Well, he's the fellow you're talking to and I'm asleep somewhere down around the Bowery. I'm not here at all. _I_ didn't want to go anywhere on a ship; I couldn't go; I didn't have the price. That supper was a hundred and seventy." "Nevertheless, this is a ship," the physician patiently explained, "and you're on it and I'm talking to you. What is more, you have not exchanged identities with your friend Anthony, for your ticket reads 'Jefferson Locke.' You'll be all right if you will just go to sleep and give that capsule a chance to operate." "Ask Higgins or Ringold who I am." "There's no one aboard by either of those names." "Say!" Anthony raised himself excitedly on one arm, but was forced to lie down again without delay. "If this is a ship, I must have come aboard. How did I do it? When? Where?"