Gesticulating violently, he told us
how, with the wash-basin in his hand, he had been pushed by one of the
crew, and how, loosened from his grasp, my toilet ware had been gripped
by the river--and now appeared far down the stream like a large bead.
The Other Man was alarmed at the boy's discomfiture, ejaculated
something about the loss being quite irreparable, and with a loud laugh
and quite natural hilarity proceeded quietly to use a saucepan as a
combined shaving-pot and wash-basin. It did quite well for this in the
morning, and during the day resumed its duty as seat for me at the
typewriter.
Our boy, apart from this small misfortune, comported himself pretty
well. His English was understandable, and he could cook anything. He
dished us up excellent soup in enamelled cups and, as we had no
ingredients on board so far as we knew to make soup, and as The Other
Man had that day lost an old Spanish tam-o'-shanter, we naturally
concluded that he had used the old hat for the making of the soup, and
at once christened it as "consomme a la maotsi"--and we can recommend
it. After we had grown somewhat tired of the eternal curry and rice, we
asked him quietly if he could not make us something else, fearing a
rebuff.
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