the sun at noon
This burst of cheerfulness puzzles me more than his former gloom . I can not understand it . I think I mentioned in an early part of this journal that one of his oddities is that he never permits any person to enter his cabin , but insists upon making his own bed , such as it is , and performing every other office for himself . To my surprise he handed me the key to-day and requested me to go down there and take the time by his chronometer while he measured the altitude of the sun at noon . It is a bare little room , containing a washing-stand and a few books , but little else in the way of luxury , except some pictures upon the walls . The majority of these are small cheap oleographs , but there was one water-colour sketch of the head of a young lady which arrested my attention . It was evidently a portrait , and not one of those fancy types of female beauty which sailors particularly affect .