passed most of our
evenings together. As a matter of fact we so spent very few. Early
in the dusk the captain invariably rowed himself out to his beloved
schooner. What he did there I do not know. We could see his light now
in one part of her, now in the other. The men claimed he was scrubbing
her teeth. "Old Scrubs" they called him to his back: never Captain
Selover.

"He has to clean up after his own feet, he's so dirty," sagely
proffered Handy Solomon. And this was true.

The seaman's prophecy held good. Seven weeks held us at that infernal
job--seven weeks of solid, grinding work. The worst of it was, that
we were kept at it so breathlessly, as though our very existence were
to depend on the headlong rush of our labour. And then we had fully
half the stores to put away again, and the other half to transport
painfully over the neck of land from the cove to the beach.

So accustomed had I become to the routine in which we were involved,
so habituated to anticipating the coming day as exactly like the day
that had gone, that the completion of our job caught me quite by
surprise. I had thrown myself down by the fire prepared for the some
old half hour of drowsy nicotine, to be followed by the accustomed
heavy sleep, and the usual early rising to toil. The evening was warm;
I half closed my eyes.

Handy Solomon was coming in last. Instead of dropping to his place,
he straddled the fire, stretching his arms over his head. He let them
fall with a sharp exhalation.

"'Lay aloft, lay aloft,' the jolly bos'n cried.
_Blow high, blow low, what care we!_
'Look ahead, look astern, look a-windward, look a-lee.'
_Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e._"

The effect was electrical. We all sprang to our feet and fell to
talking at once.

"By God, we're _through_!" cried Pulz. "I'd clean forgot it!"

The Nigger piled on more wood. We drew closer about the fire. All the
interests in life, so long held in the background, leaped forward,
eager for recognition. We spoke of trivialities almost for the first
time since our landing, fused into a temporary but complete good
fellowship by the relief.

"Wonder how the old doctor is getting on?" ventured Thrackles, after
a while.

"The devil's a preacher! I wonder?" cried Handy Solomon.

"Let's make 'em a call," suggested Pulz.

"Don't believe they'd appreciate the compliment," I laughed. "Better
let them make first call: they're the longer established." This w