"It can't be any worse than it is just now," answered Larry, who was holding on to the edge of his berth to keep himself from sliding to the floor. "My gracious! I thought a while ago the Columbia would go clean over! It wouldn't take much sail to pull a stick out of her just now."
"We won't fly a rag for forty-eight hours," put in Hobson, who had followed Striker in. "It's a regular hurricane, and we can be thankful if we keep right side up."
At that moment Olan Oleson approached the doorway from outside. The big Norwegian was as wet as any of them and in a worse humor than usual. In his arms he carried his great-coat, which for some reason he had just taken off. As Larry looked up at him, he swung the dripping garment around and hit the boy fairly across the face with it.
"You tak dat! " he cried. "You no laugh at me for nothank!"
"What do you mean by that, Oleson?" spluttered Larry, as soon as he could speak. "I wasn't laughing at you. I just looked up to see who was coming in."
"I know better—you shut your mouth," blus-
