It was half past twelve before there were signs of life in the bedroom.
Seth was setting the table for dinner, when the door of the room opened
a little way, and a voice said:

"I say, are you there?"

"I be. What do you want?"

"Would you mind telling me what you've done with my clothes?"

"Not a bit. I've got 'em out on the line, and they ain't dry yet. If
you'll look on the chair by the sou'west window you'll find a rig-out of
mine. I'm afraid 'twill fit you too quick--you're such an elephant--but
I'll risk it if you will."

Apparently the stranger was willing to risk it, for in a few moments
he appeared, dressed in the Atkins Sunday suit of blue cloth, and with
Seth's pet carpet slippers on his feet.

"Hello!" was the lightkeeper's greeting. "How you feelin'?--better?"

"Tip top, thank you. Where do you wash, when it's necessary?"

"Basin right there in the sink. Soap in the becket over top of it.
Roller towel on the closet door. Ain't you had water enough for a
spell?"

"Not fresh water, thank you. I'm caked with salt from head to foot."