own overboard?"

"Southend Pier!" he replied, with a puzzled expression.

"Yes; going down to Yarmouth, last Friday three weeks."

"Oh, ah--yes," he answered, brightening up; "I remember now. I did have
a headache that afternoon. It was the pickles, you know. They were the
most disgraceful pickles I ever tasted in a respectable boat. Did _you_
have any?"

For myself, I have discovered an excellent preventive against
sea-sickness, in balancing myself. You stand in the centre of the deck,
and, as the ship heaves and pitches, you move your body about, so as to
keep it always straight. When the front of the ship rises, you lean
forward, till the deck almost touches your nose; and when its back end
gets up, you lean backwards. This is all very well for an hour or two;
but you can't balance yourself for a week.

George said:

"Let's go up the river."

He said we should have fresh air, exercise and quiet; the constant change
of scene would occupy our minds (including what there was of Harris's);
and the hard work would give us a good appetite, and make us sleep well.

Harris said he didn't think George ought to do anything that would have a
tendency to make him sleepier than he always was, as it might be
dangerous. He said he didn't very well understand how George was going
to sleep any more than he did now, seeing that there were only
twenty-four hours in each day, summer and winter alike; but thought that
if he _did_ sleep any more, he might just as well be dead, and so save
his board and lodging.

Harris said, however, that the river would suit him to a "T." I don't
know what a "T" is (except a sixpenny one, which includes
bread-and-butter and cake _ad lib._, and is cheap at the price, if you
haven't had any dinner). It seems to suit everybody, however, which is
greatly to its credit.

It suited me to a "T" too, and Harris and I both said it was a good idea
of George's; and we said it in a tone that seemed to somehow imply that
we were surprised that George should have come out so sensible.

[Picture: Montmorency] The only one who was not struck with the
suggestion was Montmorency. He never did care for the river, did
Montmorency.

"It's all very well for you fellows," he says; "you like it, but _I_
don't. There's nothing for me to do. Scenery is not in my line, and I
don't smoke. If I see a rat, you won't stop; and if I go to sleep, you
get fooling about with the boat, and slop me overboard. I