Facing the World, Jr. Horatio Alger [free e books to read TXT] 📗

“Young man, you are sadly ignorant,” said Timmins, severely. “I’ve got five other kinds of pills downstairs, for different maladies I am subject to, but none of them will take the place of Remedial pills.”

“Will any of them cure seasickness?” asked the dude, eagerly.

“I can give you a remedy for seasickness, Mr. Clinton,” said Mr. Holdfast, the mate, who chanced to overhear the inquiry.

“What is it, Mr. Holdfast? I shall be really grateful, I assure you, if you can cure that beastly malady.”

“Swallow a piece of raw salt pork about an inch square,” said the mate gravely, “and follow it up by a glass of sea water, taken at a gulp.”

“That’s horrid, awfully horrid!” gasped Clinton, shuddering, and looking very pale. “It actually makes me sick to think of it, don’t you know,” and he retreated to the cabin, with one hand pressed on his stomach.

“That young man’s a fool!” said Mr. Timmins. “He knows no more about pills than a baby.”

“Nor do I, Mr. Timmins,” said Harry, smiling.

“I pity you then. My life has been saved several times by pills.”

“I’d rather live without them.”

Marmaduke sadly shook his head as he walked away.

“That man’s a walking drug store,” said the mate, looking after him. “I’d rather go to Davy’s locker, and be done with it, than to fill myself up with pills and potions.”

“You’re looking chipper, my boy,” said a newcomer, in a nasal voice. “Haven’t been seasick, I guess.”

Harry recognized the voice of the Yankee inventor, Jonathan Stubbs.

“No, sir; I have had very little trouble.”

“I’m goin’ to get up a cure for seasickness when I have time—a kind of a self-acting, automatic belt—I guess there’d be plenty of money in it.”

“It would be a great blessing, Mr. Stubbs. Poor Mr. Clinton would no doubt be glad to buy it.”

“Do you mean that languishin’ creeter with an eyeglass and spindle legs? What are such fellows made for?”

“Rather for ornament than use,” answered Harry, gravely.

The Yankee burst into a loud guffaw, and regarded Harry’s remark a capital joke.

The voyage was to be a long one, and after a couple of weeks they all had their sea legs on. All had become acquainted, and settled down to a regular routine. But the time dragged, and as there were no morning or evening papers, something seemed necessary to break the monotony.

“Harry,” said the professor, “I have an idea.”

“What is it, professor?”

“Suppose we give an exhibition for the benefit of our fellow passengers and the crew.”

“I am ready to do my part.”

“Then I will speak to the captain.”

The result was that on the first quiet day Professor Hemenway and his assistant gave a matinee performance on the deck of the Nantucket, at which all who could possibly be spared were present. To some of the sailors it was a novelty, and the magician’s tricks actually inspired some with the feeling that he was possessed of supernatural powers.

“Will you lend me your hat, Mr. Clinton?” he asked presently, of the dude.

“Certainly, professor,” drawled the young man.

The professor took it, and tapped it.

“Are you sure there is nothing in it?” he asked.

“I am sure of it. Really, I don’t carry things in my hat, don’t you know.”

“What do you say to this, then?” and Professor Hemenway drew out of the hat half a dozen onions, a couple of potatoes, and a ship biscuit.

“My dear sir, I think you are mistaken,” he said. “I see you carry your lunch in your hat.”

All present laughed at the horrified face of the dude.

“On my honor, I don’t know how those horrid things came in my hat,” he stammered.

“Are you fond of onions, Mr. Clinton?” asked Harry.

“I wouldn’t eat one for—for a new suit of clothes!” protested Clinton, earnestly.

“Allow me to return your hat, Mr. Clinton,” said the professor, politely. “I suppose you want the vegetables too. Here are the onions, and the rest.”

“They are not mine, on my honor,” said Clinton, very much embarrassed. “Here, my good man, can you make use of these?”

The sailor whom he addressed accepted the gift with a grin.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” he said, “If so be as I ain’t a-robbin’ you.”

“I have no use for them, my good man. I never ate an onion in my life.”

“Then I don’t think you know what’s good,” said Mr. Stubbs. “An onion, let me tell you, is mighty good eatin’, and healthy, too.”

At the close of the magical entertainment, Harry sang by request, and no part of the performance was more popular. He received many warm congratulations.

“Really, Mr. Vane, you sing like a nightingale, don’t you know,” was the tribute of Clinton.

“Bless me!” said Mr. Timmins; “I was so absorbed in your song that I have forgotten to take my catarrh medicine.”

“Thank you, sir; that is the best compliment I have received,” returned Harry, with a smile.

Little has been said thus far of Captain Hill, the chief officer of the Nantucket. He was a stout, red-faced seaman, nearing fifty years of age, and had been in service ever since he was fifteen. He was a thorough sailor, and fitted in every way but one to take charge of a ship bound to any part of the world. His one disqualification may be stated briefly—he had a passion for drink.

It was not immediately that this was found out. He took his meals with the passengers, but it was not then that he indulged his appetite. He kept a private store of liquors in his cabin, and had recourse to them when by himself, under the impression that he could keep it a secret. But intemperance, like murder, will out.

Harry and the professor were standing by the rail looking out at sea, one day, when a thick voice greeted them, “Good-mor’n’, gentlemen,” this address being followed by a hiccough.

Both turned quickly, and exchanged a significant glance when they recognized the captain.

“Yes,” answered Professor Hemenway, “it is indeed a fine morning.”