“Whatever there might be about,” said Jukes, “we are steaming straight into it.”

“You’ve said it,” caught up the second mate, always with his back to Jukes.  “You’ve said it, mind—­not I.”

“Oh, go to Jericho!” said Jukes, frankly; and the other emitted a triumphant little chuckle.

“You’ve said it,” he repeated.

“And what of that?”

“I’ve known some real good men get into trouble with their skippers for saying a dam’ sight less,” answered the second mate feverishly.  “Oh, no!  You don’t catch me.”

“You seem deucedly anxious not to give yourself away,” said Jukes, completely soured by such absurdity.  “I wouldn’t be afraid to say what I think.”

“Aye, to me!  That’s no great trick.  I am nobody, and well I know it.”

The ship, after a pause of comparative steadiness, started upon a series of rolls, one worse than the other, and for a time Jukes, preserving his equilibrium, was too busy to open his mouth.  As soon as the violent swinging had quieted down somewhat, he said:  “This is a bit too much of a good thing.  Whether anything is coming or not I think she ought to be put head on to that swell.  The old man is just gone in to lie down.  Hang me if I don’t speak to him.”

But when he opened the door of the chart-room he saw his captain reading a book.  Captain MacWhirr was not lying down:  he was standing up with one hand grasping the edge of the bookshelf and the other holding open before his face a thick volume.  The lamp wriggled in the gimbals, the loosened books toppled from side to side on the shelf, the long barometer swung in jerky circles, the table altered its slant every moment.  In the midst of all this stir and movement Captain MacWhirr, holding on, showed his eyes above the upper edge, and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Swell getting worse, sir.”

“Noticed that in here,” muttered Captain MacWhirr.  “Anything wrong?”

Jukes, inwardly disconcerted by the seriousness of the eyes looking at him over the top of the book, produced an embarrassed grin.

“Rolling like old boots,” he said, sheepishly.

“Aye!  Very heavy—­very heavy.  What do you want?”

At this Jukes lost his footing and began to flounder.  “I was thinking of our passengers,” he said, in the manner of a man clutching at a straw.

“Passengers?” wondered the Captain, gravely.  “What passengers?”

“Why, the Chinamen, sir,” explained Jukes, very sick of this conversation.

“The Chinamen!  Why don’t you speak plainly?  Couldn’t tell what you meant.  Never heard a lot of coolies spoken of as passengers before.  Passengers, indeed!  What’s come to you?”

Captain MacWhirr, closing the book on his forefinger, lowered his arm and looked completely mystified.  “Why are you thinking of the Chinamen, Mr. Jukes?” he inquired.

Jukes took a plunge, like a man driven to it.  “She’s rolling her decks full of water, sir.  Thought you might put her head on perhaps—­for a while.  Till this goes down a bit—­very soon, I dare say.  Head to the eastward.  I never knew a ship roll like this.”