gratulations.

"Here's your knife," said Merrill, after he had unlashed me.

"What did you take it for?" I asked.

"Oh, men sometimes get a mania to cut the ropes when they go up the
first time. And that isn't good for their health. I was pretty sure
you'd keep your head, but I wasn't taking any chances."

After this came thanks and warm hand-grips all around, and then I left
these daring men to their duties, and went down the lower ladders. I am
sure I never appreciated the simple privilege of standing on a sidewalk
as I did, a few minutes later, when I left the Church of the Pilgrims
and came out into the pleasant autumn sunshine.

THE DEEP-SEA DIVER

I

SOME FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF MEN WHO GO DOWN UNDER THE SEA

IN old South Street, far down on the New York river-front, is a gloomy
brick building with black fire-escapes zigzagging across its face, and a
life-size diver painted over its door, in red helmet and yellow
goggle-eyes, to the awe and admiration of the young--to the awe and
admiration of anybody who comes through this wicked-looking street by
night, and smells the sea, and stares along miles of ships' noses that
reach right over the car-tracks, and finally stops at the black-lettered
announcement that wrecks are looked after here day or night, and
mysteries of the deep penetrated by gentlemen of the diving profession
in just such gigantic suits as this painted one.

None of this had I noticed, late one night (being occupied with the
silent, hungry ships, and the fire-cars trailing over the dim bridge),
until a brisk banjo-strumming caught my ear, and I paused at the house
of wrecks, whence the sounds came. Somebody back in these moldering
shadows was playing the "Turkish Patrol," and playing it remarkably
well.

I followed the light down a narrow passage, and presently came upon the
modern wrecker, in the person of Benjamin F. Bean, a large man smoking
contentedly at a table whereon rested a telephone and phonograph. The
phonograph was playing the "Turkish Patrol," and a single incandescent
lamp, swinging overhead, illumined the scene. There were coils of rope
about, and photographs of vessels in distress, and a bunk with tumbled
sheets at one side, where Mr. Bean slept, often with his clothes on,
while awaiting the ring of sundry danger-bells.

Divers fully expect to be objects of curiosity, for never do they work
except before wondering audiences; so this one found my visit natural