and saw a
tumbler in the rack, half full of whisky and water. He noticed the
direction of my gaze.

"I can't sleep," said he. "This heavy water has given me a touch of
sea-sickness. I feel awfully queer."

"I don't suppose whisky will do you any good," said I.

He laughed feebly and vacantly. "Oh, but it does! It stays the stomach.
Different people are affected different ways, doctor." As he spoke he
took down the glass with quivering fingers and drank from it in a
clumsy gulp.

"I shall be better if I can get to sleep," he said nervously, and drank
again.

"Pye, you're making trouble for yourself," said I. "You'll be pretty
bad before morning."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't talk about morning!" he broke out in a
fit of terror.

I gazed at him in astonishment, and he tried to recover under my eyes.

"That's not your first glass," said I.

He did not deny it. "I can't go on without it. Let me alone, doctor;
for heaven's sake let me alone."

I gave him up. "Well, if you are going to obfuscate yourself in this
foolish manner," I said, my voice disclosing my contempt, "at least
take my advice and don't lock yourself in. None but hysterical women do
that."

I was closing the door when he put a hand out.

"Doctor, doctor...." I paused, and he looked at me piteously. "Could
you give me a sleeping draught?"

"If you'll leave that alone, I will," I said; and I returned to my
cabin and brought some sulphonal tabloids.

"This will do you less harm than whisky," I said. "Now buck up and be a
man, Pye."

He thanked me and stood looking at me. His hands nervously adjusted his
glasses on his nose. He took one of the tabloids and shakily lifted his
whisky and water to wash it down his throat. He coughed and sputtered,
and with a shiver turned away from me. He lifted the glass again and
drained it.

"Good-bye, doctor--good-night, I mean," he said hoarsely, with his back
still to me. "I'm all right. I think I shall go to sleep now."

"Well, that's wise," said I, "and I'll look in and see how you go on
when my watch is over."

He started, turned half-way to me and stopped. "Right you are," he
said, with a struggle after cheerfulness. His back was still to me. He
had degrading cowardice in his very appearance. Somehow I was moved to
pat him on the shoulder.

"That's all right, man. Get to sleep."

For answer he broke into tears and blubbered aloud, throwing himself
face downwards on his bunk.

"Come, Pye!"