"I'm serious," declared Tom.
"So am I, you conscientious old wind-ammer! I know it. The trouble is you're too serious. Why don't you let things slide sometimes?"
"I can't."
"No, I s'pose not. Well, then, fire away, old chap. Wait until I get more comfortable, though," and Sid turned and wiggled on the decrepit sofa until it threatened to collapse.
"You haven't answered my question yet," persisted Tom when his chum had been silent for two minutes.
"What question? Oh, blazes, Tom, I thought you'd gone to sleep. But say, why don't you come right out and say what you mean? Do you know any member of the crew who's doing that?"
"No, I don't. I told you this was a supposititious case. But, if there was one, what would you do?"
"Well, I'll give you a supposititious answer."
Sid closed his eyes. The fussy little alarm clock seemed to be counting time for him while he made up his mind.
"Why don't you tell the fellow yourself?" asked Sid so suddenly that Tom jumped.
"Would you?" he asked.
Sid arose. He came and stood close to his chum. Then he spoke.
"There be certain things, son," he said with an assumed serious air which was more than half real,
