"Say, fellows, will you take a look at Peewee?" demanded George
about ten minutes later. "I believe he is getting sick."

Fred turned and glanced at his companions but did not speak. The
color and expression of his face, however, were such as to arouse
great elation among his passengers.

"That's the way, Peewee!" laughed John. "You'll have to give up
your place at the wheel. I'm sorry that we haven't any doctor on
board."

"There was an old fellow down on Long Island Sound," suggested
George, "who used to tell us that the best cure for seasickness
was a sweet apple and if that wasn't any good then he suggested
swallowing a piece of raw salt pork with a string tied to it."

"What was the string for?" demanded John.

"If you can't guess, I shan't tell you," laughed George. "I'm
just making these suggestions for little Pyg's benefit. He
doesn't look as if he was happy. Hi, Fred!" he added, turning to
the pilot, "you had better go back in the stern and lie down."

"I would," answered Fred, who was genuinely miserable now, "if
there was any one on board who knew enough to take my place."

"Any one of us can do it," spoke up George glibly.

Fred shook his head in token of his unbelief as he said slowly,