It would make the needle jump and scratch his beloved records.
And no sleep! Another weary night of torment, and another dreary, overcast day and leaden, troubled sea.

And no Miss West.

Wada, too, is sea-sick, although heroically he kept his feet and tried to tend on me with glassy, unseeing eyes.

I sent him to his bunk, and read through the endless hours until my eyes were tired, and my brain, between lack of sleep and over-use, was fuzzy.
Captain West is no conversationalist.

The more I see of him the more I am baffled.