"Jim has vanished for a time to perform the solemn rites of his post," Elspeth explained, as she and Joan washed the breakfast things. "Cleaning the lamp, and fiddling about with oil-cans, and writing up the official journal take almost all the morning until swimming time."
"I hope that he has a chance to play," Joan said.
"Oh, yes, indeed," Elspeth assured her; "we all have fun together in the afternoon; sometimes sailing, as we did yesterday, or picnics and such. Of course Jim's always back by sunset, and never leaves at all in a fog, but Caleb's perfectly capable of looking out for everything in the daytime. Jim has one practice, however, which I don't approve," Elspeth added, proffering a dry tea-towel; "he sits up till all hours studying for the Navy—he wants to get in, you know—and then even later, writing and proof-reading. He says that he's only performing his duty, as he ought to have an eye on the lamp."
"Oh!" said Joan, continuing to wipe a perfectly dried dish in her surprise. Writing was Joan's profession, or at least what she liked to call her profession when she was at home. "What does he write?" she inquired.
