"Monday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
"Tuesday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
"Wednesday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
"Thursday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
"Friday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
"Next Friday--Got up, washed, went to bed.
"Friday fortnight--Got up, washed, went to bed.
"Following month--Got up, washed, went to bed."

I stopped, then, discouraged. Startling events appeared to be too rare,
in my career, to render a diary necessary. I still reflect with pride,
however, that even at that early age I washed when I got up. That
journal finished me. I never have had the nerve to keep one since. My
loss of confidence in myself in that line was permanent.

The ship had to stay a week or more at Gibraltar to take in coal for the
home voyage.

It would be very tiresome staying here, and so four of us ran the
quarantine blockade and spent seven delightful days in Seville, Cordova,
Cadiz, and wandering through the pleasant rural scenery of Andalusia, the
garden of Old Spain. The experiences of that cheery week were too varied
and numerous for a short chapter and I have not room for a long one.
Therefore I shall leave them all out.




CHAPTER LX.