individual whom his intimates called Tibbs.
Beauling was in a bad temper. He had had the misfortune to sprain his wrist while crossing to Port Said, and it was not yet whole. In the canal, a tramp from Australia way had broken a hawser, swung out of her siding, grounded fore and aft across the channel, and held up navigation for two days. The run down the Red Sea had been a record-breaker—for heat. The wind had blown in such a way as to neutralize the draft from the steamer's speed and create a motionless blast-furnace atmosphere for her passengers. To make matters still more trying, he ran out of collars, and there was no starch on board. To Beauling, who was in the habit of saying, "When in doubt, change your clothes," this state of affairs was simply ghastly. Furthermore, an English lady whom he had met steamer-wise—she was going out to join her husband in Ceylon—had had the bad taste to fall in love with him and make a scene. The passage along the line be-
