152 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
watching the white mists gather, or fished with 
hand-lines baited with meat. Sometimes we 
sat by the lamp, writing or reading, or mending 
tackle. And by 9 o’clock we grew sleepy. The 
bedding had been brought in earlier, on account 
of the evening dew, and was stacked along the 
benches. Now the mattresses had to be put 
down and the beds made according to individual 
taste. One could only sleep if his bed lay east 
to west, another must be near enough to the 
open door to pull it shut if a storm came up in 
the night, a third demanded to have her bed as 
far as possible from the gangway, that her face 
should not be stepped upon by the unwary 
passer-by. Hot water bottles were filled and 
a can of hot water put in the tiny bathroom. 
And the curtain was stretched across the saloon. 
The first evening it had consisted of heaped 
folds of rose-coloured mosquito netting, till a 
male voice on the far side remarked medita¬ 
tively that the curtain was most becoming, but 
quite transparent. It was then supplemented 
by rugs. Then each of us settled cautiously 
into bed, lest a mosquito should creep in too; 
the lamp was put out, and a low murmur of 
talk ran for a little while on either side of the 
room. It grew more spasmodic, then died 
away. The whisper of the river came softly 
through the open door, and the gentle slap of 
the water against the sides of the launch. From 
below came the sound of Pedroso’s snores. 
