How thoroughly these instructions were carried out may well be imagined. Three days' rations of every sort were dragged from the hold and spread about us. Without further urging all hands fell to. Every man had five A-P's and a bountiful supply of potted ham, herring and salt codfish.[16] This somewhat arid diet was washed down with copious draughts of melted snow thickened with A-P, and the celebration soon attained a terrific muzzle velocity. Songs echoed across the surrounding plain, merry tales were passed about, tales which brought a dull glow to Sausalito's cheeks and caused old Triplett to slap his thigh with delight. Frissell was a host in himself. He performed tricks of magic, imitations and feats of acrobatics and ventriloquism, appearing successively in various costumes from his inexhaustible supply. The quiet Miskin disclosed an unsuspected social gift and lured us into guessing games. "What is the distance from Bremen to Hong Kong?" We were staggered. Miskin, from the store of his librarian experience, knew the answer. It was dull, but helped to keep the others sober for a few extra hours. The three days' rations lasted, I think, about one full 24-hour day. A single unpleasant incident marred the close of the entertainment. Plock, who was enormously exhilarated, crawled toward me and pointed toward the D.K.E. flag above us. "D.K.E. song," he said thickly. I eyed him coldly. "I can only sing it with a Brother." To my disgust he stretched out a very dirty hand, and gave me the grip! "Mew Chapter," he murmured. It was revolting. That it should be Plock of all others! We did the "Band of Brothers" together--my oath compelled it--but I have never voiced its loving sentiments so half-heartedly. Quiet fell at last. So did most of my companions. One by one they toppled over. Whinney was the last to go. It is said that the loss of one function strengthens another and I suppose that the absence of eyesight gave him staying power. But he finally succumbed, smiling happily and crooning to himself--"I don't no' whish is, m' I blin'-drunk or drunk-blin'"; and he was gone. My last memory is of Frissell saying "my next imitation" and then playing "taps" on a mouth organ. I knew the impossibility of competing with a parlor entertainer. Nothing will quiet such chaps but a dead audience. So I rolled over, and slept the sleep of a tired but happy explorer. * * * * * What awakened me I cannot say, but I am sure that it was something unusual, for my awakening was not gradual or difficult. It was the same quick instant leap to consciousness as that which rouses the suburban wife when she leans across the interim between the twin beds and whispers tensely to her husband, "Horace, someone is trying to get into the dining-room window!" SOMETHING NEW IN DRAMATICS