"Everything's hunreasonable at sea, 'Arry. W'y w'en chaps put to sea
they tell we're they're at by lookin' at th' _sun_."

"Aw! An' not by lookin' at th' map?"

"By lookin' at th' sun, 'pon honor!"

"Don't try to jolly me like that, 'Enry, me lad; that's more
hunreasonable than this."

By this time the cheers had become general and the conversation broke
off. An enormous floating dry dock, towed by an ocean-going tug, slowly
drew away from the ship yards on the south bank of the Thames, just
below London. The men on the immense metal structure, hauling in ropes,
looked like spiders with gossamers. A hundred foot bridge which could be
lifted for the entrance of ocean liners, spanned the open stern of the
dock and braced her high side walls. These walls rose fifty or sixty
feet, were some forty feet thick and housed the machinery which pumped
out the pontoons and raised the two bridges, one at each end. The tug,
the _Vulcan_, which stood some two hundred yards down stream,
puffing monotonously at the end of a cable, did seem utterly inadequate
to tow such a mass of metal. Nevertheless, to the admiration of the
crowd, the speed of the convoy slowly increased.

Tug and dock were well under way when the onlooking line was suddenly
disrupted by a well-dressed youth who came bundling a large suit case
through the press and did not pause until on the edge of the green
moulded wharf.

"Boat!" he hailed in sharp Yankee accent, gesticulating at a public