lured me, and then made me a prisoner. The house was somewhere near
One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street. Now it seems as if I was on board
a ship. How could I get here? I wish somebody would come in that I
could ask."

As no one came in, Dodger got out of the berth, and tried to stand on
the cabin floor.

But before he knew it he was staggering like one intoxicated, and his
head began to feel bad, partly, no doubt, on account of the sleeping
potion which he had unconsciously taken.

At this moment the steward entered the cabin. "Hello, young man! Have
you got up?" he asked.

"Where am I?" asked Dodger, looking at him with a dazed expression.

"Where are you? You're on the good ship _Columbia_, to be sure?"

"Are we out to sea?"

"Of course you are."

"How far from land?"

"Well, about fifty miles, more or less, I should judge."

"How long have I been here?"

"It seems to me you have a poor memory. You came on board last