AND KAYAK 137 



its handle, and lifts it by resting the notches 

 one after the other on the edge of his frail 

 kayak until he can slide the slippery carcase 

 on to the skin deck in front of him. Then he 

 arranges the harpoon and float in their places, 

 and paddles homewards. 



The harpoon that big Julius gave me hangs 

 upon my wall, but the float is somewhere on 

 the broad Atlantic probably some prowling 

 shark has made a breakfast of it. I tried to 

 bring it home. First I put it under the cabin 

 table. &quot; Don t risk it in the hold,&quot; said the 

 second mate, &quot; the rats will have it.&quot; 



Under the table it stayed for a day or two, 

 but it was too much for us. Every time we 

 sat down to meals we kicked the awful thing ; 

 its subtle odour flavoured our food. Somebody 

 would send it flying across the cabin floor, 

 and there it would lie until one of us tripped 

 over it in the dark ; it was an odoriferous 

 nuisance. Last of all I hung it up ; but as we 

 stumbled across the unsteady floor as the ship 

 rolled along, we used to meet that unsavoury 

 shape with our faces. The very look of the 

 bloated thing took our appetites away. The 

 voting was unanimous and pressing : &quot; Over 

 board with it,&quot; so I regretfully cast it to the 

 sharks, and watched it dance upon the waves, 

 as it had often danced for big Julius when he 

 had a seal. 



