Ruby divided his time between the kitchen and lantern, lending a hand in each, but, we fear, interrupting the work more than he advanced it.
That day it fell calm, and the sun shone brightly. "We'll have fog to-night," observed Dumsby to Brand, pausing in the operation of polishing a reflector, in which his fat face was mirrored with the most indescribable and dreadful distortions.
"D'ye think so?"
"I'm sure of it."
"You're right," remarked Forsyth, looking from his elevated position to the seaward horizon. "I can see it coming now."
"I say, what smell is that?" exclaimed Ruby, sniffing.
"Somethink burnin'," said Dumsby, also sniffing.
"Why, what can it be?" murmured Forsyth, looking round and likewise sniffing. "Hallo! Joe, look out; you're on fire!"
Joe started, clapped his hand behind him, and grasped his inexpressibles, which were smouldering warmly. Ruby assisted, and the fire was soon put out, amidst much laughter.
"'Ang them reflectors!" said Joe, seating himself, and breathing hard after his alarm and exertions; "it's the third time they've set me ablaze."