“She has the proper spirit,” said Burnett faintly, “only I don’t feel as if I could get flat enough anywhere at all.  What in the name of the Great Pyramid ever possessed me to come?”

Mitchell rose quickly to his feet.

“You put your aunt to bed, Jack,” he said, “and I’ll put my yacht to backing.  This expedition is expeditiously heading on to what might be termed a failure.  I can see that, even if we’re only in a Sound.”

“When do you suppose we’ll get back?” the nephew asked anxiously.

“About four o’clock, if we don’t lose time by having to tack.”

“I didn’t quite catch all that,” said Aunt Mary, “but I knew suthin’ was loose all along.  I felt it inside of me right off at first.  And ever since, too.”

Jack gathered her up in his arms and bore her tenderly away to the beautiful main cabin.

“I wanted to live to change my will,” she said sadly, as he laid her down, “but somehow I don’t seem to care for nothin’ no more.”

He kissed her hand.

“They say being seasick is awfully good for people, Aunt Mary,” he yelled contritely.

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.