ch is not the fact. I've seen the owner crank
her until his backbone comes unjointed, without getting any response
whatsoever. And then, just when he is about to succumb to hate and
overexertion, the thing says tut-tut reprovingly--and then gives one
tired pish and a low mournful tush and coughs about a pint of warm
gasoline into his face and dies as dead as Jesse James. I've seen her do
that time and time again; but if she ever does start, the only way to
stop her is to steer into some solid immovable object, such as the
Western Hemisphere.
At that, motor-boating for an amateur such as I am has certain
advantages over sailboating. A motor-boatist--even the most reckless
kind--knows enough to stay ashore when a West Indian hurricane is
romping along the coast, playfully chasing its own tail like a young
puppy; but that kind of a situation is just pie for your seasoned
sailboatist.
Only last summer I had a very distressing experience in connection with
a sailboat, which was owned by a friend of mine--or perhaps I should say
he was a friend of mine until this matter came up. From the clubhouse
porch I had often admired his boat skimming gracefully over the bay,
with its sail making a white gore against the blue background; and one
day he invited me to go out with him for a sail. Before I had time
for that second thought which is so desirable under such circumstances,
I found myself committed to the venture.
Right here, though, I wish to state that if anybody ever gets me out in
a small sailboat again it will be over my dead body.
[Illustration: "SHE WAS NOT MUCH LARGER THAN A SOAPDISH"]
Well, anyway, we cast off, as he called it. I did not like that
phrase--cast off--it sounded too much as though one were bidding
farewell to all earthly ties--and almost immediately I was struck by
other disconcerting facts. The first one was that his boat, which had
looked roomy and commodious when viewed from shore, appeared to shrink
up so when you were aboard her. Really, she was not much larger than a
soapdish and not nearly so reliable. And another thing I noticed was a
lot of the angriest-looking clouds that anybody ever saw, piling up on
the horizon. And the waves were slopping up and down, and giving to the
water that dark, forbidding appearance that is so inspiring in a marine
painting, but so depressing when you are thrown into personal contact
with it.
I made a suggestion. As I recall now, I said something about wa
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