"Near thing!" said Bickley. "Good heavens, what's that?"

I listened, for the electric light had temporarily gone out,
owing, I suppose, to the dynamo having stopped for a moment. A
most unholy and hollow sound was rising from the cabin floor. It
might have been caused by a bullock with its windpipe cut, trying
to get its breath and groaning. Then the light came on again and
we saw Bastin lying at full length on the carpet.

"He's broken his neck or something," I said.

Bickley crept to him and having looked, sang out:

"It's all right! He's only sea-sick. I thought it would come to
that if he drank so much tea."

"Sea-sick," I said faintly--"sea-sick?"

"That's all," said Bickley. "The nerves of the stomach acting
on the brain or vice-versa--that is, if Bastin has a brain," he
added sotto voce.

"Oh!" groaned the prostrate clergyman. "I wish that I were
dead!"

"Don't trouble about that," answered Bickley. "I expect you
soon will be. Here, drink some whisky, you donkey."

Bastin sat up and obeyed, out of the bottle, for it was