"I don't like the look of that sail," said Dab- Dab. "I have a feeling it isn't a friendly ship. I am afraid there is more trouble coming to us."

Jip, who was lying near taking a nap in the sun, began to growl and talk in his sleep.

"I smell roast beef cooking," he mumbled-- "underdone roast beef--with brown gravy over it."

"Good gracious!" cried the Doctor. "What's the matter with the dog? Is he SMELLING in his sleep--as well as talking?"

"I suppose he is," said Dab-Dab. "All dogs can smell in their sleep."

"But what is he smelling?" asked the Doctor.

"There is no roast beef cooking on our ship." "No," said Dab-Dab. "The roast beef must be on that other ship over there."

"But that's ten miles away," said the Doctor. "He couldn't smell that far surely!"

"Oh, yes, he could," said Dab-Dab. "You ask him."

Then Jip, still fast asleep, began to growl again and his lip curled up angrily, showing his clean, white teeth.

"I smell bad men," he growled--"the worst men I ever smelt. I smell trouble. I smell a fight--six bad scoundrels fighting against one brave man. I want to help him. Woof--oo--WOOF!" Then he barked, loud, and woke himself up with a surprised look on his face.