There is no such thing as
bundling up your clothes and holding them out of water with one hand
while you swim with the other, perhaps dropping your knife or
necktie in transit. I have never been on the other side of the
"crick" even on a steamboat, but I am pretty sure that there are no
yellow-hammers' nests over there or watermelon patches. There were
above the dam. At the seaside they give you as an objective point
a raft, anchored at what seems only a little distance from where it
gets deep enough to swim in, but which turns out to be a mighty far
ways when the water bounces so. When you get there, blowing like
a quarter-horse and weighing nine tons as you lift yourself out,
there is nothing to do but let your feet hang over while you get
rested enough to swim back. It wasn't like that above the dam.
I tell you the ocean is altogether too big. Some profess to admire
it on that account, but it is my belief that they do it to be in
style. I admit that on a bright, blowy day, when you can sit and
watch the shining sails far out on the horizon's rim, it does look
right nice, but I account for it in this way: it puts you in mind
of some of these expensive oil paintings, and that makes you think
it is kind of high class. And another thing: It recalls the picture
in the joggerfy that proved the earth was round because the hull of
a ship disappears before the sails, as it would if the ship was
going over a hill.
Pages:
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105