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Beyond washing my clothes, this was about the only incident of the day. Next day brought us sight of a noble Royal Mail boat snorting magnificently along; and those who watched her regaled themselves with moving accounts of the comforts and luxuries to be had aboard. As Mr. Mason, our original cinema photographer, had returned to England, Mr. Wilkins, the naturalist, deputized for him, and managed to secure some very good shots at the moving monster. Daily duties, necessary and time-absorbing, filled in the hours not unpleasantly, and the usual even glide of day and night set in after its break in port. There is no way of eating time so thoroughly as by keeping regular watch-and-watch at sea: days slip into weeks, weeks into months, so very smoothly as to be well-nigh imperceptible.

The summery weather conditions now necessitated something of a change in our regular mode of life. The little wardroom, snug and warm farther north, was growing unpleasantly stuffy; and the scorch of the sun on the decks did nothing to mend matters. Consequently, awnings were rigged on the poop, and meals were served beneath it in alfresco fashion; a welcome change from the tinned atmosphere of down below. So genial were the weather conditions that I felt it incumbent upon me to celebrate the occasion, which I did to the extent of a much-needed shave: the first for ten clear days; though the private opinion of some aboard, I believe, was that I was growing unnecessarily dandified! Others thanked me politely and vowed that I had raised the water-line of the ship by a full two inches, thus guaranteeing her seaworthiness if further bad weather came our way.