through the canvas than it did where there was
no shade at all, or else it seemed to, for there was no breeze in the
shelter, and though what wind there was seemed as if it had come past
the mouth of a furnace, still it was wind, and the lad declared that it
was far preferable to stewing under the awning.

It was a lazy time, and the men, who had dressed as lightly as they
could contrive, went very slowly about their several tasks, and at last
when Rodd strolled towards the man at the wheel, he had to listen to a
petition.

It was fat Isaac Gregg who was taking his trick, as he called it, and he
began at Rodd at once.

"I've got something to ask you, sir," he said.

"Oh, bother!" cried Rodd, taking off his straw hat to turn it into a
fan. "It's too hot to listen. Don't ask me anything, because if you
do, I shall be too stupid to tell you."

"Oh, it aren't hard, sir," said the man innocently, as he let a couple
of spokes pass through his hands and then ran them back again. "It's
only as the lads asked me--"

"Well, well, go on," said Rodd, for the man stopped. "Phew! It's just
as if the tops of the waves where they curl over were white hot."

"Yes, sir, it is a bit warm," said the man; "but I've felt it warmer."

"Couldn't," said Rodd abruptly.

"Oh yes, sir; much hotter than this."

"What! You've felt it hotter than this?"

"Oh yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you melt away? I should have thought you would run
like a candle all into a lump."

"Ah, that's your fun, sir. Some of the lads has been telling you that I
am fat. That's a joke they have got up among them, just because I'm a
little thicker than some of the others. But as I was a-saying, sir,
they ast me to ast you--"

"Now it's coming then," sighed Rodd. "Phew! Wish all my hair had been
cut off. It gets so wet, and sticks to my forehead."

"Yes, sir, it's best short," said the man. "Just you look at mine. You
should have it done like this."

As he spoke the sailor took off his hat and exhibited a head which had
been trimmed down till all the scalp resembled a dingy brush, for it was
cut with the most perfect regularity, for the hair to stand up in
bristly fashion for about a quarter of an inch from the skin.

"Why, who cut that?" cried Rodd, with something approaching to energy,
this being the first thing that had taken his attention that day.

"Joe Cross, sir. He's a first-rate hand with a comb and a pair of
scissors. You let