"Those two men hate us worse than poison," said Dave, one day. "I can see it plainly."
"That supercargo has it in for me," replied Phil. "I wish I could let my father know just how he is acting. He'd soon lose his situation."
They were now near the equator, and the weather was very warm, and would have been unendurably hot, had it not been for the constant breeze that was blowing. Nobody cared to do much in such an atmosphere, and the three boys were content to sit around or loll in hammocks suspended in shady portions of the deck. The broiling sun started the tar from the seams, and the odor therefrom was almost overpowering.
"I wish we had an ice-making machine on board," said Roger, as he fanned himself. They had taken ice along, but the supply was running low, and he could not get quite as much as he desired.
"Never mind, we'll have a run ashore soon," said Dave. "That will be something of a change."
He had in mind the stop at Christmas Island, a small body of land belonging to England and lying in the Pacific, close to the equator. The island was sighted the next day, and they made a landing and roamed around for three hours, while some fresh water and other things were taken on board. Then, by nightfall, the bow of the Stormy Petrel was once more headed for the southwestward.
