two in a coal bunker which should be empty by to-night; otherwise, the hold, if you can find room."
"But what's all the trouble," they queried peevishly. "Surely"
"Trouble!" The purser swallowed hard. "We have on board eighty-four generals, two hundred and twenty colonels, and one thousand eight hundred and ninety-one what-nots of junior rank. They have all been recalled from leave; they have all come by this boat. The eighteenth breakfast is now being served—perhaps." With a dreadful cry he seized the brandy bottle, while they faded slowly and sadly away. There are things too terrible for contemplation. …
It was a wonderful trip—that final stage to the Half Way House of Malta. There was the dreadful incident of the short-sighted subaltern who got into a full Colonel's bed by mistake, when that worthy officer had just gone down on four no trumps redoubled. In vain to point out the similarity of engine-room gratings—in vain to plead short sight. The subsequent scene lingered in the memory for days.
There was the case of the sleep walker, who got loose in the hold, and ambled heavily over four hundred infuriated human sardines, till he finally fell prostrate into what was apparently the abode of spare china.
Last but not least there was the dreadful Case of the Major-General's Bath. Of this Draycott speaks first hand; he, personally, was an awe-struck spectator. Now the question of baths on that boat
