hopefuls cannot pay. It has opinions on every subject, and is not shy of expressing them, and, of course, talks “pidgin-English,” with German or Malay words thrown in at random to suit the occasion. The yarns that bird has told me! He has seen much of life, does not think much of human nature, but is determined to get as much enjoyment, of a sort, as possible. He is tied up with chains or ropes to an iron stanchion or the skylight or something, but no bonds can keep him. He gnaws through ropes, demolishes iron chains, digs holes in the deck, and is a perfect fiend of mischief. Once free, you see him stalking along the deck chattering and chuckling to himself, saying thunderous things in different languages and looking exactly like one of those stout, important, white-waistcoated old men who are “‘ something in the city.”
This bird makes straight for some one, generally for me, never goes round anything, but climbs laboriously over everything in the way, up one side of a chair, over it, and down the other side, even if a dozen chairs are on the route. Once it reaches you it climbs up and insists upon your scratching its poll and under its wing for hours without ceasing. An attempt to leave off, or a hasty movement of your hand, and it turns instantly and rends you. It has the most powerful beak, and we are all terrified of it as it hurts considerably, and I am so tattered and torn that I shall have to go into hospital to be mended. It does not really like me; I feel sure it despises me, but it is quite aware I have a terrified respect for it and have to go on scratching for hours. It is quite a usual thing to see every one stretched out in silence, overcome by heat and inertia—then a sudden yell—some one has forgotten to go on scratching. If you lean over the side of the ship
