The Bishop Was Feeling Rather Sea-Sick. Confoundedly Sea-Sick, In Fact.
This Annoyed Him. For He Disapproved Of Sickness In Every Shape Or
Form. His Own State Of Body Was Far From Satisfactory At That Moment;
Africa--He Was Bishop Of Bampopo In The Equatorial Regions--Had Played
The Devil With His Lower Gastric Department And Made Him Almost An
Invalid; A Circumstance Of Which He Was Nowise Proud, Seeing That
Ill-Health Led To Inefficiency In All Walks Of Life. There Was Nothing
He Despised More Than Inefficiency. Well Or Ill, He Always Insisted On
Getting Through His Tasks In A Businesslike Fashion. That Was The Way
To Live, He Used To Say. Get Through With It. Be Perfect Of Your Kind,
Whatever That Kind May Be. Hence His Sneaking Fondness For The
Natives--They Were Such Fine, Healthy Animals.
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