"Good sailor by any chance?" questioned Saltash.

"No, sir; rotten, sir." Quite undaunted came the reply.

"Well, shut your eyes and go to sleep!" commanded Saltash, and spread a
rug over the small, curled-up figure.

Toby murmured his thanks and relaxed with a big sigh of content.

Some hours later, when the blow that Larpent had prophesied had arrived
in earnest and the yacht was pitching on a wild sea in the light of a
lurid sunset, Saltash came below to change.

He was met by Toby, ghastly of face but still desperately smiling, who
sprang from his couch to wait upon him, and collapsed at his feet.

"Little ass!" said Saltash, barely preventing himself from tumbling over
him headlong.

He lifted the light, trembling figure and put it down again upon the
couch. Then he poured out a dose of brandy and water and, holding the
boy's head on his arm while the yacht lifted and tossed, compelled him to
drink it.

"Now you lie quiet!" he commanded. "Don't stir an eyelid till I give you
leave!"

The porthole was shut, and the atmosphere close and stuffy. Toby put
forth an appealing hand and clung to his protector's sleeve.