THE mail flag hung limp in the clammy heat; even the siren appeared to have difficulty in forcing its voice through a super-saturated atmosphere overladen with many mixed but powerful stenches. The 8.s. Sir Hubert Hinton, carrying His Majesty's mails, such passengers as necessity forced to travel on her, and a varied cargo chiefly of rich and penetrating odours, was ready to sail and bleated the fact impatiently. But the four white passengers booked for the trip hung back in the shelter of a shed on the wharf and gossiped. It was raining gently, somewhere in the nature of a paltry eighth of an inch an hour, but a real shower seemed to be waiting almost directly overhead; and the four whites, aware that there was no question of missing tides, and caring nothing at all for the Hubert Hinton or her scheduled times, were inclined to let it fall before attempting the run across the open jetty. The mate, a man of infinite politeness where white passengers, especially white woman passengers, were concerned, waited beside the gangway without impatience; but from up above the siren broke into short gasping barks, then stopped, and a square reddish face and a pair of remarkably powerful shoulders

appeared over the canvas at the port end of the bridge; and the man owning the reddish face spoke in an effortless bawl that could be heard a good way across the river.

"Come on, good people," he ordered. "Get a move on. Let's see your pace. This craft has got a job of work to do, and she's starting right away to do it. Lively."

So the four white passengers, one woman and three men, trotted out from the shelter of the shed reluctantly, and broke into a smart run as the sky opened and let down solid masses of warm water upon them. In the thirty-yard sprint to the gangway they were drenched, so that their thin clothing clung to them, and even their shoes were filled.

The square reddish face peering from the bridge grinned broadly.

Nodding, she made her way among the boxes which crowded the miniature promenade deck to her stateroom, but her husband, taking off his hat and wiping sweat and rain water from his face, lingered to have a word with the mate.

"The new skipper seems a humorist, and looks a bit of a bruiser," he stated. "Is he a good sort, Bunn ? "

"Couldn't be better," Bunn declared. "No nerves about him. And, good-night! man, he can handle a ship. He'll have one of the company's big boats soon. See you later. I must get her untied now."

The Hubert Hinton is well known in the corner of the world in which she sails. In marine circles she is highly considered, otherwise her reputation is unsavoury. She was built in England especially for her run, and the tales which are told of her maiden voyage from home would fill a volume. She is registered at something a trifle over five hundred tons, can carry a dozen saloon passengers, twenty second-class, and a matter of near two hundred in the stifling hell called the steerage. Besides mails she will take any cargo she can find, but it is alleged that for really vicious smelling merchandise she will cut her freight rate to a minimum. She certainly specialises in evil stinks, and napi and durian are seldom

Her accommodation is seriously considered for pre-eminence by those who have knocked about a bit and believe that they know something about the world's worst vessels. The food supplied upon her is unquestionably rich and, fortunately, rare. Strong and hungry men do, weakly, quail before it. She is owned by a rich and powerful company, yet in the expensive brochures, which inform intending passengers of the comfort and luxury of the line, neither her name nor her portrait appears. Periodically, when high Government officials are forced to travel on her, the agents receive dignified complaints in writing, to which they reply suitably; further action is not considered necessary, as there is no possibility of competition on the run. Consequently, the traders and the small officials, who make up her regular passenger list, are compelled to take her as she is, contenting themselves with much plain speech concerning the filth of her, and the pious hope that some curi

Yet in marine circles the Hubert Hinton is highly considered. She is unquestionably staunch in a seaway. She will do strange things when there is no more than a light breeze blowing, and she will positively touch originality when the monsoon is raging through the islands. On such occasions her buck and wriggle when she is contending with seas that tower above her compel admiration. Bunn, her present mate, who has sailed on her as long as any officer she has ever had, has got it down to a phrase; and, being a man not inclined to let a good thing be forgotten for want of repetition, he repeats it to any passenger who will listen to it.

"Lively!" he will declare, in reply to anguished questions as to whether the Hubert Hinton can ever run steady. "Goodnight! man, you should see her when she's really at it. She's a daisy. There isn't anything she can't do, and won't, except lie on her back. That beats her."

But many of those passengers who recognise the simple accuracy of the statement have wished, upon occasions, that she might learn

She only carries two navigating officers, master and mate, who work her trick and trick about, through good weather and bad. Towards the end of the monsoon, when she has bumped and bored and twisted and screwed her way during many weeks through all that the tropic seas have sent her, her two nurses wear the look of tired men. Yet, if you ask them, they will tell you that their billet is a plum. But, except Bunn, who seems to have a knack of holding on, the nurses do not last long. They get moved on to something better, or they meet a mishap and step down again, or death steps in and removes them quick; but while they are at it they seem to like to have the job. To understand why is difficult. It is true that the Hubert Hinton lies for two nights out of every ten in the port of Rangoon, so that the master can stretch his legs ashore for forty-eight hours, and the mate stands a decent chance of a run round if nothing hinders the working of cargo. It is also true that, owing to the trick and trick business when the craft is at sea, and the fact that the master is his own pilot, extra pay goes with the job. On the other hand, the Hinton has to run to time, and her run is mixed up with some funny anchorages and a crop of islands that take a bit of

knowing, so that even in fine weather sleep comes sparingly to the navigators, and in bad it does not come at all. BeBe sides, the smell of the vessel alone would be enough for most men; even the frequent run ashore and the extra pickings could hardly make up for continuous acquaintance with it.

On the particular trip on which Captain Field, the square, reddish-faced humorist, was entertained by the sight of sprinting passengers, the southwest monsoon was getting into its stride. All the way downriver driving rain blotted out everything but a small circle of muddy water. Passing the Hastings solid sheets of falling water shut out every trace of buildings or even of river-bank. Off the Brig the rain had cleared, but it was blowing strong. During lunch, as the Hinton altered course south, she began to slide the plates about the saloon table; and one of the passengers, having consumed two full pegs of whisky in quick succession, left hurriedly. By tea-time, when the three survivors had finished their afternoon sleep, the wind had gone, and the Hinton rolled amazingly on a heavy swell under a hot grey sky. By dinner-time, after the passengers had with much abuse and threatening of the chief steward procured sufficient water for baths, and had discovered, what they had expected, that the stifling heat of the staterooms made bath

ing and the changing of clothes an extravagant waste of time, the sky was clear and the monsoon appeared dead or sleeping.

Punctually as the bell rang for dinner Captain Field came down the ladder from his quarters. He had never seen any one of the passengers before that morning, yet he greeted them all by name as though they had sailed with him a dozen times before.

me.

"One casualty on a beautiful night like this!" he announced. "But perhaps running before breakfast isn't good for Mr Hicks. I must remember that. Now, Mrs Manton, come and sit down alongside If you want to get your own back-though I don't see why you should, for you sprinted beautifully-you'll ask me to button up the collar of my jacket. I'll do it if you insist. But it will cramp my style considerably, and I want to eat largely of this excellent repast."

"If," Mrs Manton replied, as though genuinely astonished,

watched him with real interest. He was either a very fine actor or he actually looked forward to enjoying his meal; but the latter assumption seemed against nature.

While the passengers toyed with a dubious greasy fluid described on the menu-card as "Soup: Julienne," while the captain consumed his plateful rapidly and with determination, Hicks, the casualty, came in. The saloon, which serves on the Hinton as dining-room, smoking-room, drawing-room, where also the native stewards sleep on the floor at nights after lights out, was insufferably hot and heavy with mixed smells. In spite of fans and open windows no clean air appeared to find its way within the walls. From the open hatch to the pantry a thick odour of rancid grease, stale food, and hot native flowed steadily out, and the electric lights gleamed on moist faces. On such a night in such surroundings the arrival of any one on whom ragged nerves can settle as a justifiable annoyance comes like a solid relief. To the three passengers at the table Hicks came as that relief. His appearance enabled them to forget for a moment the unrelievable discomfort of their surroundings, and to fix their attention on something which clearly demanded definite remedial treatment.

The saloon accommodation of the Hubert Hinton is such that privacy is impossible. Partition walls are thin, space is

cramped, bathrooms and lavatories are so placed as to make the domestic intimacies of any one passenger the public knowledge of all. Unless, for instance, he be a singularly silent performer at the unpleasant business, it is useless for a sufferer to deny the fact if he has been sick. Consequently, Mrs Manton, Manton, and Ward were all aware that not only had Hicks been sick, and not silently, twice during the afternoon, but that he had omitted to have a bath before dinner. To top up everything, he now appeared in appeared in a white dinner suit, which was very far from clean. Tradition aboard the Hubert Hinton prescribes as full dinner kit for men a clean pair of shorts and a clean shirt to be put on after a bath. It was, therefore, immediately clear that Hicks was an offence not second in magnitude to the atmosphere of the saloon; and his behaviour as he sat down next to Ward made it plain that he was beyond pity. He settled himself in his chair and ordered a full peg of whisky, then he nodded casually without speaking towards Mrs Manton; he ignored the captain.

Mrs Manton decided that she had not previously realised quite what a little worm the man was, but that now he cried the fact aloud by putting on clothes that he ought to avoid like the plague; Manton speculated as speculated as to where the fellow had sprung from, and hoped that he was not bound for their station; and Ward