nd round we swung.

'Why not anchor and stop here?' I protested; for a view of
tantalizing loveliness was unfolding itself.

'Oh, we've seen all there is to be seen, and we must take this breeze
while we've got it.' It was always torture to Davies to feel a good
breeze running to waste while he was inactive at anchor or on shore.
The 'shore' to him was an inferior element, merely serving as a
useful annexe to the water--a source of necessary supplies.

'Let's have lunch,' he pursued, as we resumed our way down the fiord.
A vision of iced drinks, tempting salads, white napery, and an
attentive steward mocked me with past recollections.

'You'll find a tongue,' said the voice of doom, 'in the starboard
sofa-locker; beer under the floor in the bilge. I'll see her round
that buoy, if you wouldn't mind beginning.' I obeyed with a bad
grace, but the close air and cramped posture must have benumbed my
faculties, for I opened the port-side locker, reached down, and
grasped a sticky body, which turned out to be a pot of varnish.
Recoiling wretchedly, I tried the opposite one, combating the
embarrassing heel of the boat and the obstructive edges of the
centre-board case. A medley of damp tins of varied sizes showed in
the gloom, exuding a mouldy odour. Faded legends on dissolving paper,
like the remnants of old posters on a disused hoarding, spoke of
soups, curries, beefs, potted meats, and other hidden delicacies. I
picked out a tongue, re-imprisoned the odour, and explored for beer.
It was true, I supposed, that bilge didn't hurt it, as I tugged at
the plank on my hands and knees, but I should have myself preferred a
more accessible and less humid wine-cellar than the cavities among
slimy ballast from which I dug the bottles. I regarded my hard-won
and ill-favoured pledges of a meal with giddiness and discouragement.

'How are you getting on?' shouted Davies; 'the tin-opener's hanging
up on the bulkhead; the plates and knives are in the cupboard.'

I doggedly pursued my functions. The plates and knives met me
half-way, for, being on the weather side, and thus having a downward
slant, its contents, when I slipped the latch, slid affectionately
into my bosom, and overflowed with a clatter and jingle on to the
floor.

'That often happens,' I heard from above. 'Never mind! There are no
breakables. I'm coming down to help.' And down he came, leaving the
'Dulcibella' to her own devices.

'I think I'll go on deck,' I said. '