be inclined to say that this Newfoundland boat-house was
rather a sloppy, slimy, draughty, fishy sort of a habitation to take
shelter in. Another man might object to perpetual Newfoundland fogs,
perpetual Newfoundland cod-fish, and perpetual Newfoundland dogs. We
had some very nice bears at the North Pole. Never mind! it's all one to
me--_I_ don't grumble."

"Have you done cording that box?"

This time the voice is a voice of authority--the man at the doorway is
Lieutenant Crayford himself. John Want answers his officer in his own
cheerful way.

"I've done it as well as I can, sir--but the damp of this place is
beginning to tell upon our very ropes. I say nothing about our lungs--I
only say our ropes."

Crayford answers sharply. He seems to have lost his former relish for
the humor of John Want.

"Pooh! To look at your wry face, one would think that our rescue from
the Arctic regions was a downright misfortune. You deserve to be sent
back again."

"I could be just as cheerful as ever, sir, if I _was_ sent back again;
I hope I'm thankful; but I don't like to hear the North Pole run down
in such a fishy place as this. It was very clean and snowy at the
North Pole--and it's very damp and sandy here. Do you never miss your
bone-soup, sir? _I_ do. It mightn't have been strong; but it was very
hot; and the cold seemed to give it a kind of a meaty flavor as it went
down. Was it you that was a-coughing so long last night, sir? I don't
presume to say anything against the air of these latitudes; but I should
be glad to know it wasn't you that was a-coughing so hollow. Would you
be so obliging as just to feel the state of these ropes with the ends of
your fingers, sir? You can dry them afterward on the back of my jacket."

"You ought to have a stick laid on the back of your jacket. Take that
box down to the boat directly. You croaking vagabond! You would have
grumbled in the Garden of Eden."

The philosopher of the Expedition was not a man to be silenced by
referring him to the Garden of Eden. Paradise itself was not perfect to
John Want.

"I hope I could be cheerful anywhere, sir," said the ship's cook. "But
you mark my words--there must have been a deal of troublesome work with
the flower-beds in the Garden of Eden."

Having entered that unanswerable protest, John Want shouldered the box,
and drifted drearily out of the boat-house.

Left by himself, Crayford looked at his watch, and called to a sailor
outside.