"Don't--don't! Mr. Garth," I petitioned; "I shall never sleep a wink on
this ship if you continue your narrative."

"Do--do! Mr. Garth," entreated Miss Lamarque, whose penetration showed
her by this time that the pilot was only playing on our fears, for want
of a better instrument for his skill. "I quite enjoy the idea that you
have actually been astride a fragment of the arctic glacier, and that we
may perhaps make the acquaintance of a white bear ourselves when we get
near our iceberg, or a gentle seal. Wouldn't you like one for a pet,
Miss Harz?"

"It is very cold," I said, digressively. "I feel the chill of that
fragment of Greenland freeze my marrow. I must go fetch my shawl; but
first reassure us, Mr. Garth, if possible."

He laughed. "I have paid you now for making fun of me to-day," he said,
saucily. "I saw your drawing of me in your books, and heard the ladies
laughing. I peeped as I passed when Myers took the helm, and I wanted to
see what all the fun was about; then I said to myself, 'I will give her
a skeer for that if I have a chance'--but, all the same, the chill you
feel is a real one, for as sure as death that lump of darkness is an
iceberg. I have told you no yarn, as you will find out to-morrow when
you ask the captain. I'll steer you clear of the iceberg though, ladies,
never fear. Hans Schuyler has not got the wheel to-night--you see he was
three sheets in the wind anyhow, and the captain says, 'Hans,' says he,
'don't tech another drop this night, or we'll never see another mornin'
till we are resurrected,' and so he turned into his hammock and swung
himself to sleep--a way he had, for he didn't keer for nothin' where his
comfort was concerned, having been raised up in the Injies."