Aunt Mary opened her eyes. “John Watkins, Jr., Denham,” she said, “if you say ‘food’ to me again _ever_, I’ll never leave you a penny—so there!” Jack went away and left her. “Come on to dinner, Burnett,” Clover called hilariously, “there’s liver with little bits of bacon—your favorite dish.” Burnett snarled the weakest kind of a snarl. “I thought I’d suffered enough for one year last month,” he murmured in a voice too low to be heard, and then he knew himself to be alone on deck. Down in the little dining-saloon the dishes were hopping merrily back and forth and an agreeable odor of agreeable viands filled the air. Clover and Jack sat down opposite their host and they all three ate and drank with a zest that knew no breaking waves nor sad effects. “Here’s to our aunt,” said Clover gayly, as the first course went around; “of course, we all love her for Jack’s sake, but at the same time I offer two to odds that it is a pleasure to converse in under tones occasionally. Who takes?” “Aunt Mary being laid upon her bed,” said Mitchell, “we will next proceed to lay the motion of our honorable friend upon the table. We regret Aunt Mary’s ill-health while we drink to her good—quotation marks under the latter word. Aunt Mary!—and may she arise and prosper all the way down into the launch again.” “I’m troubled about her, really,” said Jack soberly; “we ought to have brought someone to look out for her.” “The maid,” cried Mitchell, “the dainty, adorable maid! Here’s to Janice and—” his speech was brought to a sudden end by his two guests nearly disappearing under the table. Jack started up. “Ginger! Did you feel that?” he asked. “That’s nothing,” said Mitchell, calmly replacing the water-carafe which in the excitement of the moment he had clasped to his bosom; “it’s the waves which are rising to the occasion—that’s all.” But Jack had hurried out. He found poor Aunt Mary writhing in an agony of misery. “Oh—oh—” she cried, “I want to be still—I’m too much tipped—and all the wrong way! I want to lay smooth—and I stand on my head—all the—” “We’re going back,” said Jack, striving to soothe her; “lie still, Aunt Mary, and we’ll soon get there. Do you want some camphor to smell?” “I don’t feel up to smellin’,” wailed Aunt Mary, “I don’t feel up to anythin’. Go ’way. Right off.” Jack went on deck. He found Burnett stretched pale and green upon the chairs their lady guest had vacated. “If you speak to me again,” he said, in halting accents, “I’ll never speak to you again. Get out.” Jack went back to his place at dinner. “How are they?” asked Clover. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, “but there’s a big storm coming up. The sky’s all dark blue and it looks bad.”