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.”

“I don’t care,” said Mitchell, sawing into the game with vigor; “if we go down we go down with Aunt Mary and if I were Uncle Mary I wouldn’t feel happier and safer as to all concerned.  The ship that bore Caesar and his fortune had nothing at all to bear compared to this which bears Jack and his.  Here’s to Jack and his fortune, and may we all survive the dark blue sky.”

“I tell you it’s serious,” said Jack.  As he spoke another ominous heaving set the bottles tipping and nearly sent Clover backwards.

“And I’m serious,” exclaimed Mitchell.  “I’m always serious only I never can get any girl to believe it.  Here’s to me, and may I grow more and more serious each—­”

A tremendous wave bore the yacht upright and then let her fall on her forelegs again.  Clover went over backwards and the dish of peas to which he had just been helping himself followed after.

“You didn’t say ‘excuse me’ when you left the table,” said Mitchell, whom the law of gravitation had suddenly raised to a pinnacle from which he viewed his friends with mirthful scorn; “and if you’ve hurt yourself it must be a judgment on you for leaving the table without saying ’excuse me.’  Here’s to Clover, who has a judgment and a dish of peas served on him at the same time for leaving the table without saying ‘excuse me.’”

The sailing-master appeared at the door, his cap in his hand.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said respectfully, “but I fear it’s impossible to put back.  We can’t turn without getting into the trough of the sea.”

“All right, go ahead then,” said Mitchell; “go where we must go, and do what you’ve got to do.  My motto is veni, vidi, vici, which freely translated means I can sleep asea when I can’t sleep ashore.”

“But Aunt Mary?” cried Jack blankly.

“She’s all right,” said Mitchell; “she’ll soon reach the cold burnt toast stage and when she reaches the stage we’ll all welcome her into any chorus.  Here’s to choruses in general and one chorus girl in particular.  I haven’t met her yet, but I shall know her when I do, for she will look at me.  Up to now they’ve all looked elsewhere and at other men.  If my fortune was only in my face it might draw some interest, but—­”