he had
slept from four until half-past seven.

"That is one thing, Mr. Pathurst, I always sleep like a baby . . . which
means a good conscience, sir, yes, a good conscience."

And while he enunciated the platitude I was uncomfortably aware that that
alien thing inside his skull was watching me, studying me.

In the cabin Captain West smoked a cigar and read the Bible. Miss West
did not appear, and I was grateful that to my sleeplessness the curse of
sea-sickness had not been added.

Without asking permission of anybody, Wada arranged a sleeping place for
himself in a far corner of the big after-room, screening the corner with
a solidly lashed wall of my trunks and empty book boxes.

It was a dreary enough day, no sun, with occasional splatters of rain and
a persistent crash of seas over the weather rail and swash of water
across the deck. With my eyes glued to the cabin ports, which gave
for'ard along the main deck, I could see the wretched sailors, whenever
they were given some task of pull and haul, wet through and through by
the boarding seas. Several times I saw some of them taken off their feet
and rolled about in the creaming foam. And yet, erect, unstaggering,
with certitude of weight and strength, among these rolled men, these
clutching, cowering ones, moved either Mr. Pike or Mr. Mellaire. They
were never taken off their feet. They never shrank away from a splash of
spray or heavier bulk of down-falling water. They had fed on different
food, were informed with a different spirit, were of iron in contrast
with the poor miserables they drove to their bidding.

In the afternoon I dozed for half-an-hour in one of the big chairs in the
cabin. Had it not been for the violent motion of the ship I could have
slept there for hours, for the hives did not trouble. Captain West,
stretched out on the cabin sofa, his feet in carpet slippers, slept
enviably. By some instinct, I might say, in the deep of sleep, he kept
his place and was not rolled off upon the floor. Also, he lightly held a
half-smoked cigar in one hand. I watched him for an hour, and knew him
to be asleep, and marvelled that he maintained his easy posture and did
not drop the cigar.

After dinner there was no phonograph. The second dog-watch was Mr.
Pike's on deck. Besides, as he explained, the rolling was too severe. It
would make the needle jump and scratch his beloved records.

And no sleep! Another weary night of torment, and anoth