"Purser?" said the Commodore.
The custodian of the fleet's treasure tossed his auburn locks gaily behind his ears, and replied,
"As well ask the bird if it would soar heavenward, the imprisoned soul if it would yearn for light, the poet if he would seek his ideal!"
"Or a duck could he swim," put in the Vice.
"Do you mean that you prefer to run the rapids?" asked the Commodore.
"Certainly," replied the Purser.
"Say so, then," said the Commodore, with editorial sternness, "Vice?"
"The one delight of a canoe cruise," said the Vice, "is to run rapids. I don't know of another joy that compares with it, unless it be that of a Presidential campaign full of personalities."
"I decide in favor of the canal," said the Commodore. "My duty to society demands it. Moreover, I encountered this morning a large number of natives, all of whom without a single exception assured me that the rapids could not be run. Running unknown rapids is attended by considerable danger, and while the loss of a Statesman, an Artist or a Scribbler might be a blessing to suffering humanity, an Editor cannot be spared. Editors are born, not made, and are consequently very rare."
"Which fact, like that of the crocodile destroying its young," remarked the Vice, "is a proof of the merciful interposition of Providence to save the human race from what might otherwise be a terrible scourge."