“There’s one thing about it,” said Tredgold, as Chalk was about to speak; “it’s shown us the stuff you’re made of, Chalk.”

“He frightened me,” said Brisket, solemnly.  “I own it.  When I saw him come up like that I lost my nerve.”

Mr. Chalk cast a final glance at the dwindling figure on the cliff, and then went silently below and stood in a pleasant reverie before the smashed door.  He came to the same conclusion regarding the desperate nature of his character as the others; and the nervous curiosity of the men, who took sly peeps at him, and the fact that the cook dropped the soup-tureen that evening when he turned and found Mr. Chalk at his elbow, only added to his satisfaction.

He felt less heroic next morning.  The wind had freshened during the night, and the floor of the cabin heaved in a sickening fashion beneath his feet as he washed himself.  The atmosphere was stifling; timbers creaked and strained, and boots and other articles rolled playfully about the floor.

[Illustration:  “He felt less heroic next morning.”]

The strong, sweet air above revived him, but the deck was wet and cheerless and the air chill.  Land had disappeared, and a tumbling waste of grey seas and a leaden sky was all that met his gaze.  Nevertheless, he spoke warmly of the view to Captain Brisket, rather than miss which he preferred to miss his breakfast, contenting himself with half a biscuit and a small cup of tea on deck.  The smell of fried bacon and the clatter of cups and saucers came up from below.

The heavy clouds disappeared and the sun came out.  The sea changed from grey to blue, and Tredgold and Stobell, coming on deck after a good breakfast, arranged a couple of chairs and sat down to admire the scene.  Aloft the new sails shone white in the sun, and spars and rigging creaked musically.  A little spray came flying at intervals over the bows as the schooner met the seas.

“Lovely morning, sir,” said Captain Brisket, who had been for some time exchanging glances with Stobell and Tredgold; “so calm and peaceful.”

“Bu’ful,” said Mr. Chalk, shortly.  He was gazing in much distaste at a brig to starboard, which was magically drawn up to the skies one moment and blotted from view the next.

“Nice fresh smell,” said Tredgold, sniffing.  “Have a cigar, Chalk?”

Mr. Chalk shook his head, and his friend, selecting one from his case, lit it with a fusee that poisoned the atmosphere.

“None of us seem to be sea-sick,” he remarked.

“Sea-sickness, sir,” said Captain Brisket—­“seasickness is mostly imagination.  People think they’re going to be bad, and they are.  But there’s one certain cure for it.”

“Cure?” said Mr. Chalk, turning a glazing eye upon him.

“Yes, sir,” said Brisket, with a warning glance at Mr. Stobell, who was grinning broadly.  “It’s old-fashioned and I’ve heard it laughed at, but it’s a regular good old remedy.  Mr. Stobell’s laughing at it,” he continued, as a gasping noise from that gentleman called for explanation,” but it’s true all the same.”