MUCH as Bob and Joe expected, Cecil Purl Stone did not put in his appearance the remainder of that day. Nor did he appear in the cabin the next. In fact, it was two days later that he was seen walking down the promenade deck. Even then he was unusually pale and haggard looking.

At a suggestion from Joe the chums walked purposely up to the young man.

“How do you like the way the ship’s rolling?” Joe asked him, with a wink at Bob.

“Oh, it’s simply deplorable!” returned Cecil, rubbing his forehead. “There certainly should be something done about it. Don’t you know, I’m terribly afraid that if this continues much longer I shall become ill again.”

“Ill? Were you ill?” inquired Bob, with an attempt at innocence.

“Oh, it was horrible!” moaned Cecil Purl. “I declare I never experienced anything quite like it before. I do not see how I ever escaped alive!”

“But you’ve taken ocean voyages before, haven’t you?” asked Joe.

“I most certainly have, my dear chap. But, don’t you know, I never have escaped that dreadful seasickness. Not even as much as once.”

“That’s too bad,” said Bob sympathetically. “But, then, some people aren’t as lucky as others. It’s a fortunate thing, though, that the weather has remained calm.”

“Will it last, though?” queried Joe, keeping an eye on Cecil Purl Stone. “For all we know, there may come a violent storm tonight.”

“Gracious!” the slender young man gasped. “What should I ever do if that should happen? I believe I would surely go distracted.”

“He’d probably go to his suite,” laughed Bob a little later.

Contrary to Joe’s remark, there were no signs of a storm that night. In fact, the weather was most delightful, and many of the passengers spent the time on deck, taking advantage of the cool night breeze. Bob and Joe and their fathers were among those passengers.

“There’s nothing like the spell of the ocean,” murmured Mr. Lewis, as he sat staring up at the star-studded sky.

“Wait till we get to the tropics,” Bob’s father reminded him. “This won’t be anything then.”

“Right you are, Mr. Holton,” came from Joe. “But just where do we land in Africa? I know it’s somewhere along the east coast, but the particular city I don’t know.”

“We’ll pull into Mombasa,” his father explained. “It’s a place of considerable importance and is the eastern terminal of the Uganda Railway. We won’t stay there any longer than we can help. Howard and I would, however, like to look up an old friend whom we haven’t seen for some time. But as soon as we can we’ll get started into the interior.”

“I suppose from what you said that we’ll take a train as far as possible. Right?” asked Bob.

The naturalists nodded.

“That railroad was made to order for us,” said Mr. Lewis. “If it weren’t there, it would mean a long and painful hike through a region that is unimportant to us.”

“Unimportant? Why?” inquired Joe.

“Simply because we are not permitted to shoot any animal in the protectorate,” Mr. Holton explained. “You see, the English have made this a sort of park for the benefit of those who wish to view wild creatures in their natural habitat. For that reason—and also there are others—we intend to penetrate deep into the Congo forests.”

Several days later the Zanzibar steamed through the Strait of Gibraltar and passed into the Mediterranean, going so near the famous huge rock that it was plainly visible in the thin morning air.

“Isn’t that a sight for your eyes, though!” remarked Bob, gazing ahead intently.

“If it were night they would probably play searchlights on our boat,” said Joe.

“What? Searchlights? What are you talking about?”

“Dad told me that there are several forts at the rock,” Joe explained, “and the authorities there have the searchlights to light up the strait. In case of war, I suppose they would come in handy.”

As time passed, the ship steamed on through the Mediterranean, past shores that were famous in ancient history. Although the Zanzibar had not yet entered the tropics, the heat was becoming unbearable, the chums and their fathers seeking the cool retreat of the swimming pool.

Then one clear morning they were able to make out the form of a lighthouse, and a little later they pulled into Port Said, at the Mediterranean end of the Suez Canal.

“Look out for the heat now,” laughed Mr. Lewis, when they were again on their way.

“Heat’s no word for it,” groaned Bob some time later, as he loosened his necktie. “It’s torture.”

Hemmed in on both sides by two of the hottest deserts in the world, the Red Sea proved to be a veritable inferno. So hot was it that even the swimming pool did not offer a haven of refuge.

“Here’s hoping the Red Sea doesn’t close in on us,” laughed Joe. “It did on Pharaoh’s men, you know, in Biblical times.”

“Guess there isn’t any danger,” came from Bob, fanning himself vigorously. “We haven’t anything but good intentions.”

Cecil Purl Stone also found the heat torturing.

“Why don’t you take off your coat?” asked Bob. “You’ll smother to death.”

“Mamma says I just must leave it on,” was the reply. “There are ladies on the boat, you know.”

“Phooey!” muttered Joe, under his breath.

At last the Zanzibar emerged into the Indian Ocean, after having steamed through the Red Sea for six days.

Once Bob and Joe were standing at the rail, watching the schools of porpoises, the occasional flying fish, and the less frequent fins of sharks, when they suddenly heard a stamping noise coming from around the promenade deck. Wondering what was meant, they turned and waited.

A moment later appeared Cecil Purl Stone, running awkwardly around the corner.

“Why, what’s the matter?” questioned Joe, trying to refrain from laughing at sight of the slender young man.

Cecil Stone groaned.

“Oh, it is beastly!” he said, stopping for a moment to face the chums.

“What?” demanded Bob. “Tell us about it.”

“That horrible captain just told me there may be a storm,” he explained, wiping the perspiration from his white face.

“Storm? You don’t say!” broke out Joe. “I—— Wait. Where are you going?”

“I intend to go to bed without further delay,” answered Cecil promptly. “I tell you, I just can’t stand that dreadful seasickness any more. I’m going to have Mamma give me some medicine.”

The next instant he was gone.

Bob and Joe wanted to laugh, but they had done so so often that they restrained themselves.

“Not wishing him any bad luck, but a guy like that ought to be seasick,” grunted Bob. “He’s the worst I’ve ever seen.”

“But, say, Bob, he said the captain told him there might be a storm, didn’t he? Do you suppose there’ll be one?”

“I can’t see any signs of it,” the other youth returned. “Who knows but that the captain was joking with Cecil? Perhaps he just wanted to get him worried. It’s natural to pick on a sissy, you know.”

Whether Bob was right in his opinion they never knew. But, at any rate, all the remainder of that day and the next passed without any atmospheric disturbance.

“Well, boys, we’ll reach Mombasa tomorrow about noon,” remarked Mr. Holton, moving with Joe’s father up to where the chums were standing.

“Hurray!” yelled Bob. “I’ve enjoyed this voyage, but I’ll be glad to get to Africa.”

“Wonder where Cecil Purl will head for?” laughed Joe.

“Probably straight to the best hotel in the city,” answered Mr. Lewis with a smile, for he also had been amused by Cecil’s feminine traits.

The next day Bob and Joe, together with their fathers, took places at the rail, awaiting their arrival at Mombasa. Several other passengers were already there, and still more came soon after.

Eleven o’clock came. Eleven-thirty. Noon. But no Mombasa.

“Wonder what’s the trouble?” mused Bob, his keen eyes searching the horizon. “We should be there by now.”

“True,” answered his father. “But don’t forget that a ship isn’t exactly like a train. It is much harder to stick closely to time tables on an ocean voyage.”

Notwithstanding this, two o’clock rolled around without any sight of the city of their destination. Many of the passengers were beginning to worry, for they could not conceive of straying so far from the schedule.

Even Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis were starting to wonder. They remained anxiously at the prow, straining their eyes to make out the outlines of the city.

Suddenly, when a heavy cloud lifted, Joe gave a cry of delight.

“It’s land!” he exclaimed, pointing far out over the water. “It won’t be long now.”

Gradually the outlines of the shore line became more distinct, and at last the passengers could make out luxurious tropical vegetation.

“But where’s Mombasa?” demanded Bob, scanning the landscape.

“Looks like it isn’t there,” answered Mr. Lewis.

“What do you mean, Dad?” Joe inquired.

Mr. Lewis was at the point of making a reply when the captain of the ship strode up, on his face a scowl.

“It seems that there has been a slight mistake in our reckoning,” he said. “We are seventy nautical miles to the north.”