We stood together on the after-deck again, my father and I.
"Now I must be going," he remarked, trying to be casual. He put a ten dollar bill in my hand.
"—to give the boys a treat with," he explained ... "there's nothing like standing in good with an outfit you're to travel with ... and here," he was rummaging in his inside pocket ... "put these in your pocket and keep them there ... a bunch of Masonic cards of the lodge your daddy belongs to ... if you ever get into straits, you'll stand a better chance of being helped, as son of a Mason."
"No, Father," I replied, seriously and unhumorously, "I can't keep them."
"I'd like to know why not?"
"I want to belong to the brotherhood of man, not the brotherhood of the Masons."
He looked puzzled for a moment, then his countenance cleared.
"That's all right, Son ... you just keep those cards. They might come in handy if you find yourself stranded anywhere."
When my father turned his back, with a thought almost prayerful to the spirit of Shelley, I flung the Masonic cards overboard.