"I wanted to live to change my will," she said sadly, as he laid her down,
"but somehow I don't seem to care for nothin' no more."
He kissed her hand.
"They say being seasick is awfully _good_ for people, Aunt Mary," he
yelled contritely.
Aunt Mary opened her eyes.
"John Watkins, Jr., Denham," she said, "if you say 'food' to me again
_ever_, I'll never leave you a penny--so there!"
Jack went away and left her.
"Come on to dinner, Burnett," Clover called hilariously, "there's liver
with little bits of bacon--your favorite dish."
Burnett snarled the weakest kind of a snarl.
"I thought I'd suffered enough for one year last month," he murmured in a
voice too low to be heard, and then he knew himself to be alone on deck.
Down in the little dining-saloon the dishes were hopping merrily back and
forth and an agreeable odor of agreeable viands filled the air. Clover and
Jack sat down opposite their host and they all three ate and drank with a
zest that knew no breaking waves nor sad effects.
"Here's to our aunt," said Clover gayly, as the first course went around;
"of course, we all love her for Jack's sake, but at the same time I offer
two to odds that it is a pleasure to converse in under tones occasionally.
Who takes?"
"Aunt Mary being laid upon her bed," said Mitchell, "we will next proceed
to lay the motion of our honorable friend upon the table. We regret Aunt
Mary's ill-health while we drink to her good--quotation marks under the
latter word.
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