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           “Myfather’saparsoninNorfolk,”itsaid.Evidentlyhehadforgottenhehadtoldmethisimportantfactbefore.Trulyanicelittletale.

           “Youhadbetterslipdownintomystateroomnow,”Isaid,movingoffstealthily.Mydoublefollowedmymovements;ourbarefeetmadenosound;Ilethimin,closedthedoorwithcare,and,aftergivingacalltothesecondmate,returnedondeckformyrelief.

           “Notmuchsignofanywindyet,”Iremarkedwhenheapproached.

           “No,sir.Notmuch,”heassented,sleepily,inhishoarsevoice,withjustenoughdeference,nomore,andbarelysuppressingayawn.

           “Well,that’sallyouhavetolookoutfor.Youhavegotyourorders.”

           “Yes,sir.”

           IpacedaturnortwoonthepoopandsawhimtakeuphispositionfaceforwardwithhiselbowintheratlinesofthemizzenriggingbeforeIwentbelow.Themate’sfaintsnoringwasstillgoingonpeacefully.Thecuddylampwasburningoverthetableonwhichstoodavasewithflowers,apoliteattentionfromtheship’sprovisionmerchant—thelastflowersweshouldseeforthenextthreemonthsattheveryleast.Twobunchesofbananashungfromthebeamsymmetrically,oneoneachsideoftheruddercasing.Everythingwasasbeforeintheship—exceptthattwoofhercaptain’ssleepingsuitsweresimultaneouslyinuse,onemotionlessinthecuddy,theotherkeepingverystillinthecaptain’sstateroom.

           ItmustbeexplainedherethatmycabinhadtheformofthecapitalletterL,thedoorbeingwithintheangleandopeningintotheshortpartoftheletter.

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