they would reply, if they replied at all, 'Stop the ship for five
minutes.'"

"Then I'll be wise," said Chester.

The night came on, dark and stormy. The two friends kept up well. They
ate the evening meal with appetite, then went on deck again.

Night adds awfulness to the sublimity of a storm at sea. The world about
the ship is in wild commotion. The sky seems to have dropped into the
sea, and now joins the roaring waves as they rush along. The blackness
of the night is impenetrable, save as the lights from the ship gleam for
an instant into the moving mass of water. Now and then a wave, rearing
its crested head higher than the rest, breaks in spray upon the deck.
The wind seems eager to hurl every movable object from the vessel, but
as everything is fast, it must be content to shriek in the rigging and
to sweep out into the darkness, and lend its madness to the sea and sky.

But let us leave this awe-inspiring uproar and go down into the saloon.
Here we come into another world, a world of light and peace and
contentment. The drawn curtains exclude the sight of the angry elements
without, and save for the gentle rocking of the ship and the occasional
splashing of water against its sides, we can easily imagine that we are
a thousand miles from the sea. Passengers sit at the long tables,
reading or chatting. Other groups are playing cards or chess. In the
cushioned corners, young men and maidens are exchanging banter with
words and glances. A young lady is playing the piano, and over all this
scene of life, and light, and gaiety, the electric lamps gleam in steady
splendor.