r. Bridegroom had all his Irish up and followed him out. Eventually
we succeeded in calming him down; "Stub" made a most abject apology, and
I don't believe he ever used his knife and fork for any such a purpose
again.

The gawky chap was Mr. Dave Harrison, one of the finest operators in the
profession.

Just about this time fall weather was coming on, and there was a
suggestion of an approaching winter in the chill morning air, and
receiving a letter from my old friend Clarke in Galveston, telling me
there was a good job waiting for me if I could come at once, I pulled up
stakes in New York, and sailed away on the Mallory Line ship "Comal,"
for my old stamping ground. I reached there the next week and was put to
work on the New York Duplex, which, by the way, was the longest string
in the United States. Mrs. Swanson had re-opened her boarding house on
Avenue M, everything looked lovely and I anticipated a very pleasant
winter. Up to September 18th, everything was as quiet and calm as a May
day. The weather had been beautiful, the surf bathing and concerts in
front of the Beach Hotel fine, and nothing was left to wish for.

I quit working on Thursday, September 18th, at five P. M., and went out
to the beach and had a plunge. The sky was clear, but there was a good
stiff breeze blowing, and it was increasing all the time. The tide was
flowing in, and the dashing of the waves and roar of the surf made a
picture long to be remembered. After my swim I went home, and when
supper was finished three of us again went out to the beach. The wind
had increased to a perfect gale, and already the water was over the car
tracks. The Pagoda and Surf bath houses were surrounded, while numerous
small shacks along the shore had been washed away. Inch by inch, foot by
foot, the water advanced until it began to look serious, but no one
dreamed of the flood that was to follow.

We went home at eight-thirty, and at ten I dropped into the realms of
the sand man, lulled to sleep by the roar of the distant surf, and the
whistling and moaning of the high wind.

Jimmie Swanson was again my roommate and about five o'clock he woke me
up and said:

"Mr. Bates, if this wind keeps up the whole island will be under water
in a very few hours more."

"Nonsense, Jimmie," I replied, "there is no danger of that," and I
turned over to have another snooze, when I heard a peculiar _swash_,
_swash_, _swash_, against the side of the house.

"Jimmie, wha