. Donkin took a stride over
the doorstep.--"Git it yerself," he replied in a surly tone. "You can do
it, unless you are sick."--"Of course I can do it," said Wait, "only...
"--"Well, then, do it," said Donkin, viciously, "if yer can look after
yer clothes, yer can look after yerself." He went on deck without a look
back.

Jimmy reached out for the mug. Not a drop. He put it back gently with
a faint sigh--and closed his eyes. He thought:--That lunatic Belfast will
bring me some water if I ask. Fool. I am very thirsty.... It was very
hot in the cabin, and it seemed to turn slowly round, detach itself from
the ship, and swing out smoothly into a luminous, arid space where
a black sun shone, spinning very fast. A place without any water! No
water! A policeman with the face of Donkin drank a glass of beer by the
side of an empty well, and flew away flapping vigorously. A ship
whose mastheads protruded through the sky and could not be seen, was
discharging grain, and the wind whirled the dry husks in spirals along
the quay of a dock with no water in it. He whirled along with the
husks--very tired and light. All his inside was gone. He felt lighter
than the husks--and more dry. He expanded his hollow chest. The air
streamed in, carrying away in its rush a lot of strange things that
resembled houses, trees, people, lamp-posts.... No more! There was no
more air--and he had not finished drawing his long breath. But he was
in jail! They were locking him up. A door slammed. They turned the key
twice, flung a bucket of water over him--Phoo! What for?

He opened his eyes, thinking the fall had been very heavy for an empty
man--empty--empty. He was in his cabin. Ah! All right! His face was
streaming with perspiration, his arms heavier than lead. He saw the
cook standing in the doorway, a brass key in one hand and a bright tin
hook-pot in the other.

"I have locked up the galley for the night," said the cook, beaming
benevolently. "Eight bells just gone. I brought you a pot of cold tea
for your night's drinking, Jimmy. I sweetened it with some white cabin
sugar, too. Well--it won't break the ship."

He came in, hung the pot on the edge of the bunk, asked perfunctorily,
"How goes it?" and sat down on the box.--"H'm," grunted Wait,
inhospitably. The cook wiped his face with a dirty cotton rag, which,
afterwards, he tied round his neck.--"That's how them firemen do in
steamboats," he said, serenely, and much pleased with himself. "My