coolness; for coolness was
not to be had.

On the second afternoon of the calm I happened to pass this awning,
and glanced in. Pretty well all the men were there, lounging, with
shirts open and chests streaming with sweat; and in their midst on a
barrel, sat Johnny, with a flushed face.

The boatswain--Gibbings by name--was speaking. I heard him say--"An'
the Lord Mayor 'll be down to meet us, sonny, at the docks, wi' his
five-an'-fifty black boys all ablowin' blowin' Hallelujarum on their
silver key-bugles. An' we'll be took in tow to the Mansh'n 'Ouse an'
fed--" here he broke off and passed the back of his hand across his
mouth, with a glance at the ship's cook, who had been driven from his
galley by the heat. But the cook had no suggestions to make. His soul
was still sick with the reek of the boiled pork and pease pudding he
had cooked two hours before under a torrid and vertical sun.

"We'll put it at hokey-pokey, nothin' a lump, if you _don't_ mind,
sonny," the boatswain went on; "in a nice airy parlour painted white,
with a gilt chandelier an' gilt combings to the wainscot." His picture
of the Mansion House as he proceeded was drawn from his reading in
the Book of Revelations and his own recollections of Thames-side
gin-palaces and the saloons of passenger steamers, and gave the
impression of a virtuous gambling-hell. The whole crew listened
admiringly, and it seemed they were all in the stupid conspiracy. I
resolved, for Johnny's sake, to protest, and that very evening drew
Gibbings aside and expostulated with him.

"Why," I asked, "lay up this cruel, this certain disappointment for
the little chap? Why yarn to him as if he were bound for the New
Jerusalem?"

The boatswain stared at me point-blank, at first incredulously, then
with something like pity.

"Why, sir, don't you know? Can't you see for yoursel'? It's because
he _is_ bound for the New Jeroosalem; because--bless his tender
soul!--that's all the land he'll ever touch."

"Good Lord!" I cried. "Nonsense! His cough's better; and look at his
cheeks."

"Ay--we knows that colour on this line. His cough's better, you say;
and I say this weather's killing him. You just wait for the nor'-east
trades."

I left Gibbings, and after pacing up and down the deck a few times,
stepped to the bulwarks, where a dark figure was leaning and gazing
out over the black waters. Johnny was in bed; and a great shame swept
over me as I noted the appealing wretchednes