THE VENTURE OF THE "BERTHA" WHALER
A STORY OF THE ANTARCTIC
BY HENRY FRITH
"PAX!" cried Arthur Rushton, as he and his brother Reginald struggled amicably on the sofa in the vessel's berth.
"All right!" assented the elder, a fine lad of sixteen. "How are you feeling this morning, Arthur? Better?"
"Rather! I feel like Samson already," replied the somewhat delicate-looking boy. "I am ready for several Philistines this morning, and mean to ask the steward-fellow for a couple of asses' jaw-bones for dumb-bell practice!"
"Better keep them shut, and not exercise them so much," said Reginald politely. "No, no!" he cried, as Arthur made an attempt to assault him. "It's pax now; and, besides, I want to finish dressing." The threatened contest was thus averted, and, after some light chaff had been exchanged, the lads resumed their conversation.
"I wonder how things are at home," mused Arthur.