The St. Bernard has leaped aboard. Merciful heavens! the jug contains arnica! We have torn off Nero’s license tag and chucked him overboard.
Hennessy Martel is maudlin and weeping on my pleated shirt-front. “In case you pull through, old man,” he says, “tell my poor little wife (the tall one) that my [126] ]insurance policy is in the kitchen clock with the milk tickets.”
2.20 P. M.—We have launched the life-raft, and stocked it hastily with the following supplies: One case Jack Spratt’s assorted dog biscuits, two dozen golf balls, a crate of sponges, two telephone books, one “Little Giant” gas-stove, one “Little Gem” safety lawn-mower, six dozen Lady Macbeth lamp-chimneys, one Prospect Park croquet set, four wheelbarrows, one roll-top desk, and one Colonial highboy with glass knobs. This outfit will keep us going for a few days.
[127] ]At 2.30 P. M. we cut away the life-raft and pushed off, and we are now pitching and tossing on the dusty billows. Heaven only knows how much longer our sufferings will be prolonged.
I am parched and weary, and my pencil is worn to the quick. Ho, Steward, fetch me a milk-bottle with a patent stopper! I must commit these writings to the restless sea.