Some swim on their sides, some swim straight, some come up to take a sniff of air, and some stay below.

It is just the same with people who go to sea.

Take half a dozen individuals who are all more or less used to the water, and they will behave in half a dozen different ways.

One will become encrusted to the deck like a barnacle, another will sit in the cabin playing cards; a third will spend his time spinning yarns with the ship's company, and a fourth will rush madly up and down the deck from morning till night in the pursuit of an appetite which shall leave no feat of marine digestion untried or unaccomplished.

Are they not all stamped on the memory of them that go down to the sea in yachts?
The little card-box and the scoring-book of the players, the deck chair and rugs of the inveterate reader, the hurried tread and irascible eye of the carnivorous passenger, and the everlasting pipe of the ocean talker, who feels time before him and the world at his feet wherein to spin yarns--has any one not seen them?
Now, the elements on board of the _Streak_ were sufficiently diverse to form a successful party, and by the time they were two days out on the long swell, with a gentle breeze just filling the trysails, and everything stowed, they had each fallen into the groove of sea life that was natural to him or to her.