"But, sir, if he would drink this tea he would throw up and--"

"Ishmael, will you strangle that diabolical villain and pitch him
into the sea?" thundered the judge.

The "diabolical villain" raised his disengaged hand in deprecation
and withdrew, carrying the cup of tea in the other.

"And now, Ishmael, take yourself off, and leave me in peace. I hate
you! and I loathe the whole human race!"

Ishmael left the stateroom, meditating on the demoralizing nature of
seasickness.

He next visited Mr. Brudenell, whom he found in a paroxysm of
illness, with another stateroom steward holding the basin for him.

"Ugh! ugh! ugh!" moaned the victim. "This heaving, rising, falling
sea! And this reeling, pitching, tossing ship! If it would only stop
for one moment! I should be glad of anything that would stop it--
even a fire!"

"I am sorry to see you suffering so much, sir! Can I do anything for
you?" inquired Ishmael sympathetically.

"Ugh! ugh! ugh! No! Hold the basin for me again, Bob! No, Ishmael,
you can do nothing for me! only do go away! I hate anyone to see me
in this debasing sickness! for it is debasing, Ishmael! Ugh! the
basin, Bob! quick!"