“Now,” said Siebenhaar, “you have an opportunity to exercise your national prerogative and rule the waves.” George made no reply. His internal organs were supplying him with an illustration of Siebenhaar’s theory. The waves did just as they liked with the boat, sent it spinning in one direction, wrenched it back in another, slipped from under it, picked it up again and every now and then playfully sent a drenching spray over its occupants. Siebenhaar talked, sang and slept, and, when he was doing none of these things, ate voraciously. “I insist on dying with a full stomach,” he said when George protested. George ate and slept and thought of Arabella, when he could think at all. “Death,” said Siebenhaar, “must be very surprising: but then, so is life when you penetrate its disguises and discover its immutability. We hate death only because it is impossible to pretend that it is something else, so that it comes at the end of the comedy to give us the lie. After this experience I think I shall change my philosophy and seek the truth of life with the light of death. You never know: it might become fashionable. Women like their thoughts ready-made, and they like them bizarre. Women are undoubtedly superior to men....” But by this time George was in such a state of discomfort that he lay flat on his face in the bottom of the boat and groaned: “I am going to die.” “Eat,” said Siebenhaar, “eat and drink.” And he offered corned beef and water. “I want to die,” moaned George, and he wept because death would not come at once. He hid his face in his hands and howled and roared. Siebenhaar himself ate the corned beef and drank the water, and went on eating and drinking until he had exhausted all their supply. Then he curled up in the bows and went to sleep and snored. And the waves changed their mood and gave the boat only a gentle rocking. George opened his eyes and gazed up into the sky. It was night and the stars were shining brilliantly. Red and yellow and white they were and they danced above him. He was astonished to find that he did not wish to die. He was very hungry. He crawled over to Siebenhaar and shook him and woke him up. There was neither food nor water in the locker. “In the great cities of the civilised world,” said Siebenhaar, “there are occasional performers who go without food for forty days. We shall see.” “I am thirsty,” whimpered George. “Those occasional performers,” returned Siebenhaar, “drink water and smoke cigarettes, and they are sheltered from the elements by walls of glass. We shall see.” With that he turned over and went to sleep again. XIII: HUNGER George’s face was sunk and his eyes glared. Siebenhaar tried to spit into the sea, but it was impossible. He was daunted into silence. Another day began to dawn. “If this goes on,” said George in a dry whistling croak of a voice, “I shall eat you.” And he glared so at Siebenhaar’s throat that the philosopher turned up his coat collar to cover it.