Like that he raved for perhaps an hour and we tried to
quiet him. Cousin Willie had slipped away, I don't know
where. Cousin Ferdinand was in his bunk with his back
turned.

"Do I slip to-night, at all," he kept growling "or do I
not? Say, mister, do I get any slip at all?"

But no one minded him.

Then daylight came and Uncle fell asleep. His face looked
drawn and gray and the cords stood out on his withered
hand, which was clutched against his shirt.

So he slept. It seemed so strange. There was no court
physician, no bulletins to reassure the world that he
was sleeping quietly.

Later in the morning I saw the ship's doctor and the
captain, all in uniform, with gold braid, walking on
their inspection round.

"You had some trouble here last night," I heard the
captain say.

"No, nothing," the doctor answered, "only one of the
steerage passengers delirious in the night."

Later in the morning the storm had gone down and the sea
was calm as glass, and Uncle Henry and I got Uncle William