The Upper Berth
"Well," said he, eying me with an air of ready interest, "it's a fine morning and it's not a fine morning. I don't think it's much of a morning."
"Well, no--it is not so very fine," said I.
"It's just what I call fuggly weather," replied the doctor.
"It was very cold last night, I thought," I remarked. "However, when I looked about, I found that the porthole was wide open. I had not noticed it when I went to bed. And the state-room was damp, too."
"Damp!" said he. "Whereabouts are you?"
"One hundred and five----"
To my surprise the doctor started visibly, and stared at me.
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"Oh--nothing," he answered; "only everybody has complained of that state-room for the last three trips."
"I shall complain too," I said. "It has certainly not been properly aired. It is a shame!"
"I don't believe it can be helped," answered the doctor. "I believe there is something--well, it i