"See-saw, Margery Daw" If Gritty could only have foreseen, when singing that little song! Gritty—Hale's Turning. Already they seemed like a dream.
The second day had started badly, for in bringing breakfast aft he had unwisely contemplated a daub of porridge on the lid of a bowl. The sea had seemed quite needlessly busy; the decks cold, wet, and foolishly unstable. He had felt greenish and nibbled pilot bread rather desperately, and it had been hard to laugh at their talk of swallowing raw pork, but there had been so much to do! The old man had spent hours demonstrating how the corners were to be mopped, how the soda and borax were to be mixed, the brass polished, the linoleum scrubbed, had shown him where the stores were kept, revealed lockers under settees, explained how the mattresses were to be turned and the blankets tucked in. And one's head had ached, ached, ached—see-saw, ache, ache—whilst heavy loads of water dashed against the iron walls, hissing and spluttering at closed ports, and it was stuffy, and the old man was saying, "Once a week," and the Lord only knew what he was referring to.
Washing up the greasy platters was horrible. The serving at table was easy enough, but the white jacket was too long in the sleeves—Otto, his predecessor in office, being six feet tall.
Otto, who was now an ordinary seaman, had taken a whole hour out of his watch below to come and scrub the floors of the mates' rooms for him—and all because he had been able to chat with Otto in German. The sailors had professed to scorn the language, but his knowledge of it had given him a prestige, which was increased when he tied intricate knots Mr. Silva had taught him. Neither of these accomplishments had received adequate recognition in Hale's Turning. At last Aunt Verona's Mondays and Wednesdays—were bearing fruit—as everything instigated by Aunt Verona, had a
