"No."

"Of course, there may have been some mistake," the medical man
observed, doubtfully, as he opened the door. "Maybe you intended
to take some other ship?"

"No mistake at all," the sick man assured him. "I'm beginning to
remember now. You see, I lost my hat and decided I'd run down to
Panama and get another. Good-night."

"Good-night. That capsule will make you sleep."

When the officer had gone Kirk mumbled to himself: "If it turns
out that I AM in New York, after all, when I wake up I'll lick
that doctor." Then he turned over and fell asleep.

But morning showed him the truth of the doctor's information. He
awoke early and, although his head still behaved queerly and he
had moments of nausea, he dressed himself and went on deck. The
shock he had received on the evening before was as nothing to what
he felt now upon stepping out into the light of day. In spite of
his growing conviction, he had cherished a lingering hope that it
was all a dream, and the feeling did not entirely vanish until he
had really seen for himself. Then his dismay was overwhelming.

A broad deck, still wet from its morning scrubbing and lined with
steamer chairs, lay in front of him. A limitless, oily sea
stretched out before his bewildered eyes; he touched the rail with
his hands to verify his vision. The strangeness of it was uncanny.
He felt as if he were walking in his sleep. He realized that a