Tulagi Bachelors

How They Cooked Mr.

Sherwin’s Fish!

TULAGI, 5.1., March 24.

T'HE gentlemen who occupied what were known as the “Bachelors’ Quarters” at the Burns Philp establishment on Makambo, Tulagi, recently experienced a week-end of mingled comedy and tragedy.

The well-known and popular Mr. Vic.

Sherwin whispered to a few chosen friends what was a closely-guarded secret; he knew a magnificent fishing-patch, a place where mighty creatures of the deep came and swallowed bait, like a Hollywood star in a cocktail parlour.

The chosen friends bit; and a party of happy optimists went off in a launch.

They found the spot marked “X” by Mr.

Sherwin, and they fished—and they fished —and they fished. The result of their labours was represented by one creature of moderate size and doubtful character.

They held a meeting, there on the spot marked “X”, and adopted a resolution.

Mr. Sherwin complained that their lan guage was not the language of gentlemen.

They decided to go home.

Someone tried to start the engine, and the engine spluttered sourly. They all tried to start the engine, and the engine was found to be very dead indeed. To shorten the story: They remained on the

spot marked “X” for 24 wretched hours, soaked by rain and tossed by an inhos pitable sea. They were too sick to say what they thought of Mr. Sherwin; but if looks could deprive a man of youth and beauty ’

Some hours later, they were home. It was now Saturday afternoon. Six men lay snugly in the “Bachelors’ Quarters,” sound asleep. There was a sudden howl from the native servants. The whole structure was afire —within 20 minutes it was a heap of ashes. The six occupants barely escaped from the building. They lost everything—clothing, personal be longings, gramophones, typewriters.

There was much sympathy with the unfortunate “bachelors”—and then some one discovered the silver lining to the cloud. They were raking over the ashes, and there they found the “Icyball.” It was no longer a freezer—in fact, it was sizzling.

They broke it open. There, inside, grilled to a turn, was the miserable, solitary fish that was the sole fruit of Vic. Sherwin’s fishing expedition.