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THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SPITFIRE;
could not stand to be out in it. Phil crawled under the canvas, his eyes rolling strangely.
"Water! water! oh, give me water!" he cried.
I was startled. Was the poor boy going insane?
"Let me wet the canvas," I said. "It will make it cooler."
I did as I suggested, and the cabin boy declared it was much better than before. Then I coaxed him to try to sleep, and at last he fell into a troublesome doze.
Throwing more water on the canvas until it was sopping wet, I crawled in beside him.
But not to sleep. My mind was in a whirl, and I could not think clearly. My mouth was parched, and my tongue so thick that when I tried to utter some words in reverie I could not, a thing that frightened me still more.
