A young man entered the smoking room and eyed the men that were gathered there.

       Harvey Cheyne

      The door to the smoking room had been left open to the North Atlantic fog, as the big ocean liner rolled and lifted with every new wave. It sounded its whistle to warn the fishing fleet.

      “That Cheyne boy’s the biggest bother aboard,” said a man in a woolen overcoat. He shut the door with a bang.

      A white-haired man looked up from his sandwich, and spoke between bites, “I know the kind. America is full of them.”

      “There isn’t any real harm to the boy. He should be felt sorry for more than anything else,” said a man with a gentle voice. “He’s been dragged from place to place since he was a kid. His mother’s a lovely lady, but she knows she can’t manage him. They’ve given him too much freedom. Now he’s going to Europe to finish school.”

      “His schooling hasn’t even started yet,” said another man. “But you’re right about his freedom. He isn’t even sixteen and he gets two hundred dollars a month for spending money.”

      “His father’s in the railroad business, isn’t he?” asked the white-haired man.

      “Yep. And plenty of other things, too,” said the man in the corner. “He even does some work for the government, I think.”

      “For the government, eh?” said the man with the gentle voice.

      Once more the door banged. A small, thin boy, about fifteen years old, came into the room. A half-smoked cigarette was hanging out of one end of his mouth. His color was pale and he had an unhappy look about him. He wore a bright red jacket, knee pants, red socks, and a red cap.

      “Say, there’s thick fog out there. Wouldn’t it be great if we ran down a fishing boat?” said the boy.

      “Shut the door, Harvey, on your way out,” said the man with the gentle voice. “You’ve no business here.”

      “Who says?” answered Harvey, boldly forgetting respect. “I’ve as much right here as the next man. Say, gentlemen, it’s much too dead. Can’t we have a friendly game of cards?”

      There was no answer. Harvey puffed away on his cigarette and drummed the table with dirty fingers.

      “How’s your mama today, Harvey?” one man asked. “I didn’t see her at lunch.”

      “She’s in her room, I guess. She’s almost always sick on the ocean, but this is the first time I’ve been on a ship and I haven’t been sick one bit. Oh, my cigarette’s out. Does anyone have something good to smoke?”

      A ship’s officer came into the room.

      “Say, Mac,” cried Harvey happily, “how are we hitting it?”

      “In the usual way,” said the officer. “The young are as polite as ever to the older ones, eh?”

      His uniform made Harvey think the man looked more like a soldier than an officer on a ship.

      The white-haired man handed Harvey a black cigar. “Try it,” he said with a smile.

      Harvey lit the cigar, feeling very grown-up.

      “Where are we now?” the white-haired man asked the officer.

      “We’ll be on the Grand Bank tonight. Right now we’re all among the fishing fleet,” answered the officer.

      Harvey’s eyes were full of tears.

      “Do you like my cigar?” the white-haired man asked him.

      “Just fine,” said Harvey through closed teeth. “Seems as if the weather’s gotten better. I’ll run outside and see.”

      Harvey crawled to the end of the deck in the back of the ship and bent over near the flagpole, feeling very sick. The cigar joined with the rolling sea and made him seasick. He was fainting when the roll of the ship sent him over the side. Then a low gray wave came out of the fog, took Harvey under its arm, and swept the boy away. The green sea closed over him, and he went quietly to sleep.

      Harvey woke up to the sound of a dinner horn. He remembered he was Harvey Cheyne, drowned and dead in the deep ocean. When he opened his eyes he thought he was still on top of the sea, for it was all around him. He was lying on a pile of half-dead fish, looking up at the big, strong back of a man in a blue shirt.

      “I’m dead,” thought Harvey, “and this thing is in Charge. It’s worse than being in prison.”

      Harvey groaned and the man turned around.

      “Ah, you feel better now?” he asked. “Lie still. Fine good job that I catch you,” he went on. “How did you fall out?”

      “I was sick,” said Harvey. “I couldn’t help it. Where am I?”

      “You are in my dory. My name is Manuel and I come from the schooner, We’re Here. We will be back in time for dinner.”

      Harvey did not know how long he’d been in the dory, but when he looked up again, he saw the side of the schooner. He was taken aboard, and given a warm drink, and he fell asleep.