hearted man, and assured
Bobby that passengers were often a great deal sicker than he was; but
he promised to do something for his relief, and Tom went with him to
his state room for the desired remedy.

The potion was nothing more nor less than a table spoonful of brandy,
which Bobby, who had conscientious scruples about drinking ardent
spirits, at first refused to take. Then Tom argued the point, and the
sick boy yielded. The dose made him sicker yet, and nature came to his
relief, and in a little while he felt better.

Tom behaved like a good nurse; he staid by his friend till he went to
sleep, and then "turned in" upon a settee beneath his berth. The boat
pitched and tumbled about so in the heavy sea that Bobby did not sleep
long, and when he woke he found Tom ready to assist him. But our hero
felt better, and entreated Tom to go to sleep again. He made the best
of his unpleasant situation. Sleep was not to be wooed, and he tried
to pass away the dreary hours in thinking of Riverdale and the dear
ones there. His mother was asleep, and Annie was asleep; that was
about all the excitement he could get up even on the home question. He
could not build castles in the air, for seasickness and castle
building do not agree. The gold and purple clouds would be black in
spite of him, and the aerial structure he essayed to build would pitch
and tumble about, for all the world, just like a steamboat in a heavy
sea. As often as he got fairly into it, he was violently rolled out,
and in a twinkling found himself in his narrow berth, awfully seasick.

He went to sleep again at last, and the long night passed away. When
he woke in the morning, he felt tolerably well, and was thankful that
he had got out of that scrape. But before he could dress himself, he
heard a terrible racket on deck. The steam whistle was shrieking, the
bell was banging, and he heard the hoarse bellowing of the captain. It
was certain that something had happened, or was about to happen.

Then the boat stopped, rolling heavily in the sea. Tom was not there;
he had gone on deck. Bobby was beginning to consider what a dreadful
thing a wreck was, when Tom appeared.

"What's the matter?" asked Bobby, with some appearance of alarm.

"Fog," replied Tom. "It is so thick you can cut it with a hatchet."

"Is that all?"

"That's enough."

"Where are we?"

"That is just what the pilot would like to know. They can't see ahead
a bit, and don't know where we are."