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believe you me not, she's a fixed 'un. 'Bout an hour's time this army on board'll clear out, then she'll clear out too. Reckon you'll take an army on board some other place. Don't know which, though. Nobody does. And when I was your age I remember I read about the plans for laying her down. That's a while ago I reckon. So you're in her, too. Well! Well! I got two sons on one, too. Can't remember her number. Numbers ain't as good as names. Suppose those fellows know best.' He yawned and lay back, his head sunken on his breast. The man said: '   'Night, Rajah.' He went away.
    The light above the box grew dim, then brightened again. The figure on the box turned round, so that the red light in the saloon caught his face. He was grinning. 'Nothing'll get you save rats.' That was what he said. For the first time he laughed aloud. He took the half-plug of tobacco from his pocket, bit a piece off and began to chew. His eyes wandered to the bulwarks, lighted on the bad patch which the painter had forgotten to cover, and remained there.
    He heard the harsh, guttural sound of running water. Somebody had opened the hydrant on the quay. Figures passed him continuously but he did not raise his head. A light flashed on the bridge and went out again. He could hear men talking together on the poop. Behind him somebody shouted, 'Turn it off now.' The harsh sound died away. He did not seem to notice it, his eyes were still staring at the bad patch. 'Nothing'll get you, Rajah, save the rats.' He laughed again, seeing the man's face, the expression in his eyes as he let fall the remark. 'Special kind of rats'll get them.' He chuckled. He withdrew his hands from his pockets, joined them together, whilst the expression upon his face changed for a moment. 'Special kind of rats'll get them. Ha! Ha!'
    The clock in the graving-dock struck the hour. He rose to his feet then and walked up and down the deck in the neighbourhood of the gangway. He could hear hammering, shouting, the hissing of ropes as they passed round the drum end. They were trying the windlass forward. A tall figure coming out of the saloon door almost knocked him down. He felt strong hands on his body. He said, '   'Scuse me,' but did not look up. The figure went on aft.
    The gangway was deserted. From the open hatch there came the strong smell of varnish, burning paint, new wood. He bit again on the plug. 'Coffin-shaped before tide-time,' he thought. 'Sand in her guts.' When she'd gone, where'd he be then? He grinned, thinking. 'Not any place where rats'll get me. Reckon they'll grin other side of their faces before long.'
    He pulled up suddenly and leaned against a samson post. His eyes were following the line of the hawser. He could see the rat-guards near the bottom. The bitts over which the bight of the hawsers lay looked like many squat fists pushing their way up through the stone floor of the quay. He pulled a large red handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. The handkerchief was covered with large white spots. He buttoned the reefer jacket more tightly about his throat. His eyes followed the line of the huge, black shape. The water beneath him had an oily surface. He ejected his tobacco quid, cleared his throat once again and returned to his place on the box. Bradshaw came up. He had a thick white scarf wrapped round his neck.
    'You can clear out now, Rajah,' he said.
    The man on the box looked up. Then he nodded his head and got off the box. He pulled it out from the bulk-head, almost bent double owing to the weight of it. He gasped. Bradshaw put a hand to the box.
    'What have you got in there, Rajah?' he asked, smiling.
    'Ain't nothin' of yours. See!' The man began to gather his things together. There was a small, brown-paper parcel, some old clothes, a handkerchief, a pair of rope shoes. Bradshaw eyed these and said:
    'Isn't that the lost parcel, Rajah?' He began to dismantle the cluster overhead. The other looked at him. His jaws ceased to move. 'Ah!' he said