In all their commerce (you will have begun to remark) Foe and Farrell
were apt to yield, at intervals, to an abandonment of weariness, but
so that they alternated, the exhaustion of one seeming ever to double
the other's fever. Foe sought his bunk and lay there like a log.
Farrell, after the first shock of reading his pursuer's name in the
Passengers' Book--where it sprang to his eyes fair and square--fell
to haunting the passage-way, low down in the vessel, on which one
dreadful door refused to open. His terror of it so preoccupied him
that he forgot to feel sea-sick. But the steward of those nether
regions marked him, by the electric lamps, as a lurking passenger to
be watched; and wondered who, at that depth in the ship, could be
carrying valuables to tempt a middle-aged gentleman who (if looks
were any guide) ought to be up and losing money to the regular
card-sharpers.
It was not until the second day out, and pretty late in the
afternoon, that Foe emerged from his cabin, neatly dressed and hale.
(Unlike some Professors I have known, Jack kept his clothes brushed
and his hair cut.
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