icholas, who stands, probably in
contemplative fashion, legs apart, face serious, brain calculating
income derivable from rats skinned alive.) The line rising in a
minute, I turn on my elbow to witness the end. Alas! _Helas!! Ach
Himmel!!!_ How are the mighty fallen! Two grey shining lumps, each
with tapering tail dropped limply through the bottom; fish, cheese,
and rodents all on one dead level now, given over to corruption. Up,
up--I hear the trap grounded on the poop over my head. I sigh as I
climb out and wash. I rather like rats. The Grey One in the tunnel is
an old chum of mine. I have never killed one yet, though often even
Grey One has been chased up and down, in fun. He, sitting on a
stringer and twirling his whiskers, has "views," I think, about Men
with Sticks, _his_ conception of the Devil and all his angels.

John Thomas, bursting in with hot water for shaving and information
concerning breakfast in the cabin, interrupts my rat-reverie. It is
Sunday morning.

"Eight o'clock, sir. Steward say, sir, will you have breakfast with
the Chief Officer?"

"No one else aboard?"

"Second Officer's in the galley, sir."

"Where?"

"Galley, sir." A snigger from John Thomas. "Come aboard early, sir."

"Oh! Tell the Steward 'Yes, with pleasure.'"

So! I finish dressing leisurely, donning patrol-jacket and uniform
cap, and "turn out." It is a calm Sabbath morning. Not yet have the
mists rolled from the heights which frown upon us all around, but the
sun glitters on the docked shipping, silent save for the flapping of
sea gulls and the clank of some fresh-water pump. With a glance of
homage towards the sun, I go below for my inspection. Boilers, fires
banked in the donkey-boilers over weekend, bilges, sea-cocks all in
order; I am at liberty to enjoy my day of rest. Nicholas, in white
drill coat, shining silver buttons, and shore-boots of burnished
bronze hue, glides aft with a dish (held high, in the professional
manner) covered with a dome of gleaming pewter. Two youths on the
quay, fishing hopelessly for insignificant dock carp, watch with
open-mouthed awe. My own buttons of yellow metal, linen collar, and
badge _de rigueur_, pass a similar scrutiny as I follow him to the
saloon.

The saloon, compared with our own quarters, is sumptuously furnished.
Panelled in hard woods, white ceiling with shining nickel rods and
brackets, carpeted floor and ruby-plush upholstering--into such a
palace I step to take breakfas