d hands," but that was pretty far and
almost too handy for the boys from across the tracks.

The wash-tub fellows will have to be left out of it entirely. It was an
inferior, low-grade Eden they had anyhow, and if they lost it, why, they
're not out very much that I can see. And I rather pity the boys that
lived by the sea. They had a good time in their way, I suppose,
with sailboats and things, but the ocean is a poor excuse for a
swimming-hole. They say salt-water is easier to swim in; kind of bears
you up more. Maybe so, but I never could see it; and even so, if it
does, that slight advantage is more than made up for by the manifold
disadvantages entailed. First place, there's the tide to figure on. If
it was high tide last Wednesday at half-past ten in the morning, what
time will it be high tide today? A boy can't always go when he wants to,
and it is no fun to trudge away down to the beach only to find half a
mile of soft, gawmy mud between him and the water. And he can't go in
wherever it is deep enough and nobody lives near. People own the beach
away out under water, and where he is allowed to go in may be a perfect
submarine jungle of eel-grass or bottomed with millions of razor-edged
barnacles that rip the soles of his feet into bleeding rags. Then,
too, when one swims, more or less water gets into one's nose and mouth.
River-water may not be exactly what a fastidious person would choose
to drink habitually, but there is this in its favor as compared with
sea-water: it will stay down after it is swallowed; also, it doesn't gum
up your hair; also, if you want to take a cake of soap with you, all you
have to look out for is that you don't lose the soap. Nobody tries to
use toilet soap in sea-water more than once.

And surf-bathing! If there is a bigger swindle than surf-bathing, the
United States Postal authorities haven't heard of it yet. It is all very
well for the women. They can hang on to the ropes and squeal at the big
waves and have a perfectly lovely time. Some of the really daring ones
crouch down till they actually get their shoulder-blades wet. You
have to see that for yourself to believe it, but it is as true as I
am sitting here. They do so--some of them. But good land! There's no
swimming in surf-bathing, no fun for a man. The water is all bouncing up
and down. One second it is over head and hands, and the next second it
is about to your knees, with a malicious undertow tickling your feet and
tuggi