Wham! Bam! Scram!/He'll stave us to splints if he doesn't stop./There he blows!/Hang on! He's heaving the poop!/Oh quick, before the ship capsizes;/somebody help him find his group!/Who me?/I see."" Thus Farber's reluctant Jonah, one of three terrified and sick-looking mariners, puts on his wet suit, slides ""down the hatch,"" sets up a periscope inside, and rides North. (""What sport to be riding submarine/in a whale on the way to Tarshish!"") At last, the happy leviathan finds its pod and embraces its mother, and its passenger (""Hey wait! Just let/a fellow disembark"") finds land. What becomes a legend best? Where Beverly Brodsky (p. 1041, J-257) drenches the story in sober self-importance, Farber sails blithely along on a sea of bubbles, with no particular destination. Sheer dalliance, for those with a predisposition for sophisticated baubles--but Chess' devilish crosshatched illustrations could bridge many gaps.