"Here in the hotel?"

The steward seemed undecided whether to treat the occupant of
Suite A as a humorist or a lunatic, but finally he observed, "This
isn't a hotel, sir."

"That's what I though-t-more like a roadhouse," "This is a ship."

"A--WHAT?" Anthony raised himself and stared at the white-clad
figure over the foot of his little brass bed.

"This is a ship, sir."

"You get out of here!" yelled the infuriated young man. He cast
his eyes about for some missile to hurl at this insolent menial,
and, spying a heavy glass pitcher upon a stand beside him, reached
for it, whereat the steward retreated hastily to the door.

"I beg pardon, sir. I will send the doctor at once."

"Must think I'm still drunk," mumbled Anthony, dazedly, as he once
more laid his head upon his pillow with a groan.

When his dizziness had diminished sufficiently to permit him to
open his eyes he scanned his surroundings more carefully; but his
vision was unreliable. His head, too, continued to feel as if his
skull were being forcibly spread apart by some fiendish instrument
concealed within it. His mouth was parched, his stomach violently
rebellious. In spite of these distractions he began to note