For the atmosphere was stifling and odorous, and the ceiling descended in
an odd bulging curve to within a couple of feet of his head. Still half
asleep, he raised his fist and prodded at it in astonishment--a feeling
which gave way to one of stupefaction as the ceiling took another shape
and swore distinctly.
"I must be dreaming," mused the doctor; "even the ceiling seems alive."
He prodded it again-regarding it closely this time. The ceiling at once
rose to greater altitudes, and at the same moment an old face with bushy
whiskers crawled under the edge of it, and asked him profanely what he
meant by it. It also asked him whether he wanted something for himself,
because, if so, he was going the right way to work.
"Where am I?" demanded the bewildered doctor. "Mary! Mary!"
He started up in bed, and brought his head in sudden violent contact with
the ceiling. Then, before the indignant ceiling could carry out its
threat of a moment before, he slipped out of bed and stood on a floor
which was in its place one moment and somewhere else the next.
In the smell of bilge-water, tar, and the foetid atmosphere generally his
clouded brain awoke to the fact that he was on board ship, but resolutely
declined to inform him how he got there.
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