"Your place is aft on the poop, Mr. Mellaire," said the cold,
passionless voice.

"Yes, sir," answered the second mate.

That was all. Not another word was spoken. Captain West resumed his
stroll on the weather side of the poop, and Mr. Mellaire, ascending
the ladder, went to pacing up and down the lee side.

I continued along the bridge to the forecastle head and purposely
remained there half an hour ere I returned to the cabin by way of the
main deck. Although I did not analyze my motive, I knew I did not
desire any one to know that I had overheard the occurrence.


I have made a discovery. Ninety per cent. of our crew is brunette.
Aft, with the exception of Wada and the steward, who are our
servants, we are all blonds. What led me to this discovery was
Woodruff's Effects of Tropical Light on White Men, which I am just
reading. Major Woodruff's thesis is that the white-skinned, blue-
eyed Aryan, born to government and command, ever leaving his
primeval, overcast and foggy home, ever commands and governs the rest
of the world and ever perishes because of the too-white light he
encounters. It is a very tenable hypothesis, and will bear looking
into.

But to return. Every one of us who sits aft in the high place is a
blond Aryan. For'ard, leavened with a ten per cent, of degenerate
blonds, the remaining ninety per cent, of the slaves that toil for us
are brunettes. They will not perish. According to Woodruff, they