CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.
HOW SOME FOLK TURN SMUGGLERS.
The sea was up before the boys next morning, and in its own special way was making the _chasse-maree_ pitch and toss, now rising up one side of a wave, now gliding down the other; for the wind had risen towards morning, and was now blowing so hard that quite half the sail hoisted overnight had had to be taken down, leaving the swift vessel staggering along beneath the rest.
Vince turned out feeling a bit puzzled and confused, for he did not quite grasp his position; but the full swing of thought came, with all its depressing accompaniments, and he roused up Mike to bear his part and help to condole as well.
Mike, on the contrary, turned out of his bunk fully awake to their position, and began to murmur at once bitterly as he went on dressing, till at last Vince turned upon him.
"I say," he said, "it's of no use to make worse of it." "No one can," cried Mike.
"Oh, can't they?
Why, you're doing your part." "I'm only saying that it's abominable and outrageous, and that I wish the old lugger may be wrecked.

Here, I say, what have you been doing with my clothes ?" "Haven't touched 'em." "But you must have touched them.

I folded them up, and put them together, and they're pitched all over the place.

Where are my boots ?" "Servant girl's fetched 'em out to clean, perhaps," said Vince quietly.
"Eh?
Think so?
Well, they did want it .-- Get out! I don't see any need for jeering at our position here.

Just as if I didn't know better! Here, you must have got them on." "Not I! Even if I wanted to, one of your great ugly boots would be big enough for both of my feet." "Do you want to quarrel, Cinder ?" said Mike roughly.
"Not here.