A Resume.

When we sailed on Wednesday. April 1st, numbered about sixty, only half-a-dozen travelling with the team as barrackers. About thirty more were there to cheer us on our way, carolling beer songs, hakas, and College yells from a point of vantage on the Ferry Wharf. An emotional lull followed the casting of the bow-line, the tension being broken by Ray. Reardon, who called in stricken tones to his old friend, our ex-secretary: "Oh, Charlie-Don't forget to write to me!"

The Auckland team was aboard, and the chanting of hakas and the munching of biscuits helped to pass away the evening. A young gentleman from the steerage with a portable gramaphone, a spotted cap, smart lumber jacket, and wearing a beer bottle jauntily in his hip-pocket, spent a mutually exhausting half-hour beseeching the Victorian women to start a dance going. John Macduff, who throughout the trip was just like a father to us, all fearing that they might possibly weaken, prevailed upon the lad to seek another hunting ground.

The passage was fair, and everyone looked fit: and happy when assembled with the rest of the passengers on the main stairway the following morning. John was at his best, instructing Charlie to straighten his tie, Bishop to hold his head up and to look pleasant. He even took the ball and gave the basketball team a short practice over the heads of passengers. One of them whispered to her companions that John was The Father. Charlie, Bish, and Joey and the rest were probably The Children. John kept the ship amused with badinage and by recounting a few racy selections from his vast repertoire of anecdotes.