He was pleasant looking, but we little realized what hours of nocturnal horror were in store for us.

He was the champion snorist of the five continents.

He could snore in all keys, all languages, all directions, and it was like trying to sleep in the same room with a fog-horn.

Nothing could waken him and he went to sleep before he struck the bed.

And from that moment on through the night he tried the acoustic properties of that end of the ship to the utmost.
After two or three nights of sleeplessness we resolved to rebel, mutiny, revolt, and if necessary joyfully to commit justifiable homicide.
[Drawing: _Never an American Flag_] One night Stephenson turned on the light and reached for his cane.