Preparations to pay the customary honours to Father Neptune were in full swing on board the _West Barbican_. For days before the ship was due to cross the Line all the officers and twenty-five per cent of the passengers became temporary inquiry agents. Seemingly casual conversation was entered into with the primary object of discovering who had or who had not "crossed the Line". Within a few minutes of an unguarded remark being made by a passenger to the effect that he had not been in southern latitudes, that fact was duly recorded in a notebook by the indefatigable Acting Chief Officer. Preston was a veritable sleuth-hound in these matters, and already his "bag" was assuming favourable proportions. Among the names recorded were those of Partridge and Plover. The two Watchers had never heard of the time-honoured ceremony, and were in utter ignorance of the ordeal through which they would have to pass. Their lack of general knowledge, combined with a somewhat surly reticence, had made them no friends on board. They kept to themselves, hardly exchanging a word with anyone else except when duty compelled them to speak. At length the eventful day arrived when the ship was due to cross the parallel of maximum length. Soon after day-break eager lascars had been employed in spreading a huge tarpaulin over a rectangular frame, so as to form a large bath. At one end, facing the for'ard portion of the promenade deck, a platform was erected and draped with bunting. Behind locked doors officers off duty lurked in their cabins, contriving weird and startling disguises for the Sea King's festival. The donkey-engines were started--not with the idea of ejecting bilge water, but for the purpose of pumping a copious supply of salt water into the improvised tank. On the bridge Preston was "shooting the sun". Again and again he levelled his sextant, until he was satisfied that the ship was within a few miles of the Line. Then, hastily reporting the fact to the Old Man, he disappeared down the companion-ladder to change with the utmost speed into a wondrous garb comprised chiefly of a bathing-suit, seaweed, and oyster-shells. Next, assisted by an individual who resembled a cross between George Robey and Little Tich, and who was to appear as the doctor, Father Neptune donned flowing locks and beard of picked oakum, assumed a massive crown of tinsel, and grasped his trident. At that moment the ship's siren gave a terrific blast. It was the signal that Neptune's cortege had been sighted by the look out for'ard. The fo'c'sle and foremost shrouds were packed with eagerly gesticulating lascars; native firemen squatted on the decks on either side of the tank, and clung like flies to the stanchion-rails. On the promenade deck all available camp-chairs had been pressed into service and were occupied by excited passengers, trying to keep cool in vain, in spite of the double awnings.