LOST ISLAND
A steady wind had began to blow, whittling throagb the rigging and giving the steamer a most unpleasant motion known as the "cork-screw." That is to say, she neither pitched all the time nor rolled all the time, but kept up an aggravating combination of both. Dave was getting rather white in consequence, and did not by any means feel sure of his legs. He had a strong desire to lie down and wait until he got used to the motion, but there were many things for him to do. In the middle of this the steward popped his head into the galley.
"Shake up the skipper's dinner in a hurry," he said. "The old man says he wants it right now. I'm going to fix up the table, so send the kid on with the soup soon as you can."
"Tell the captain to go to Jerusalem," spluttered Barnes, who hated to be hurried. "Regular dog's life, this is. Here, Dave, take this soup along to the steward, and get a move on."
David, anxious to do his best, but feeling more
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