ect which the whole project had
begun, in his mind, to take on. He felt ashamed even to look squarely
into Crayme's eye, and his mind was greatly relieved when the captain
turned his face to the wall and exclaimed:

"Fred, for goodness' sake get out of here; I feel enough like a baby
now, without having a nurse alongside. I'll do well enough for a few
hours; just look in once in a while."

During the first day of the trip, Crayme made no trouble for himself or
Fred; under the friendly shelter of night, the two men had a two-hour
chat, which was alternately humorous, business-like, and retrospective,
and then Crayme fell asleep. The next day was reasonably pleasant out of
doors, so the captain wrapped himself in a blanket and sat in an
extension-chair on the guards, where with solemn face he received some
condolences which went far to keep him in good humor after the
sympathizers had departed. On the second night the captain was restless,
and the two men played cards. On the third day the captain's physique
reached the bottom of its stock of patience, and protested indignantly
at the withdrawal of its customary stimulus; and it acted with more
consistency, though no less ugliness, than the human mind does when
under excitement and destitute of control. The captain grew terribly
despondent, and Fred found ample use for all the good stories he knew.
Some of these amused the captain greatly, but after one of them he
sighed.

"Poor old Billy Hockess told me that the only time I ever heard it
before, and _didn't_ we have a glorious time that night! He'd just put
all his money into the _Yenesei_--that blew up and took him with it only
a year afterward--and he gave us a new kind of punch he'd got the hang
of when he went East for the boat's carpets. 'Twas made of two bottles
of brandy, one whisky, two rum, one gin, two sherry, and four claret,
with guava jelly, and lemon peel that had been soaking in curacoa and
honey for a month. It looks kind of weak when you think about it, but
there were only six of us in the party, and it went to the spot by the
time we got through. Golly, but didn't we make Rome howl that night!"

Fred shuddered, and experimented upon his friend with song; he was
rewarded by hearing the captain hum an occasional accompaniment; but, as
Fred got fairly into a merry Irish song about one Terry O'Rann, and
uttered the lines in which the poet states that the hero

"--took whisky punch
Ivery night for