essed a square, open dining saloon and two tiny cabins amidships.
Her internal works were open to the light of day, and her engineer
lived in the engine-room up to his waist and on deck from his waist up,
thus demonstrating the possibility of being in two places at once.

The _Wiggle_, moreover, possessed many attributes which are denied to
other small steamers. She had, for example, a Maxim gun on her tiny
forecastle. She had a siren of unusual power and diabolical tone, she
was also fitted with a big motor-horn, both of which appendages were
Bones's gift to his flagship. The motor-horn may seem superfluous, but
when the matter is properly explained, you will understand the necessity
for some less drastic method of self-advertisement than the siren.

The first time the siren had been fitted Bones had taken the _Wiggle_
through "the Channel." Here the river narrows and deepens, and the
current runs at anything from five to seven knots an hour. Bones was
going up stream, and met the Bolalo Mission steamer coming down. She had
dipped her flag to the _Wiggle's_ blue ensign, and Bones had replied
with two terrific blasts on his siren.

After that the _Wiggle_ went backwards, floating with the current all
ways, from broadside on to stern first, for in those two blasts Bones
had exhausted the whole of his steam reserve.

She was also equipped with wireless. There was an "aerial" and an
apparatus which Bones had imported from England at a cost of twelve
pounds, and which was warranted to receive messages from two hundred
miles distant. There was also a book of instructions. Bones went to his
hut with the book and read it. His servant found him in bed the next
morning, sleeping like a child, with his hand resting lightly upon the
second page.

Sanders and Hamilton both took a hand at fixing the _Wiggle's_ wireless.
The only thing they were all quite certain about was that there ought to
be a wire somewhere. So they stretched the aerial from the funnel to the
flagstaff at the stern of the boat, and then addressed themselves to the
less simple solution of "making it work."

They tried it for a week, and gave it up in despair.

"They've had you, Bones," said Hamilton. "It doesn't 'went.' Poor old
Bones!"

"Your pity, dear old officer, is offensive," said Bones stiffly, "an' I
don't mind tellin' you that I've a queer feelin'--I can't explain what
it is, except that I'm a dooce of a psychic--that that machine is goin'
to be