"The Regatta," says I, "what is that—anything cool?"
"Why, it is a race given by the Yacht Club," says he, "and of course it will be cool if we go out to sea."
"Well, I don't object to seeing, if that will make things cool," says I; "but how a club can race, except when it is in a policeman's hand, I can't begin to make out."
Cousin D. gave one of his long, hearty laughs, and says he:
"Now, really, Phœmie, don't you understand what a club is?"
I felt the blood rise up into my face.
"Don't I know what a club is?" says I. "Well, I should rather think so. There are hickory clubs, oak clubs, yellow pine knots, that answer pretty well, and locust clubs, but how a little ship can be turned into a club beats me!"
"Oh, it isn't one ship that makes the club, but a good many," says he, "crack ships, too."
I just dropped the two hands I had been holding up, quite out of breath.
"So a good many ships make one club, do they?" says I.