“There is the ‘German Association for the Rescue of Life from Shipwreck,’ founded in 1865. It is supported by donations. The last report I saw, gave it seventy–four life–boat stations, twenty of these having the mortar or rocket apparatus. There must be a larger number now. In 1880–81, it saved two ships and a hundred and twenty–two lives; and from May, 1880, to May, 1881, its members subscribed over a quarter of a million of dollars. Germany has flat sandy beaches, and it cannot so well use England’s heavy boats. It is said that in Russia, Italy and Spain, life saving societies patterned more or less after England’s ‘National Life–boat Institution,’ have been organized. England must have a magnificent navy of life–boats and a fine rocket service; but I guess Uncle Sam with his hands in his deep pockets, paying out more and more every year, has organized a service that can’t be matched elsewhere. That is my opinion, and I would like to ask the company’s.”
This patriotic appeal to the company was exceedingly popular. Boots went down heavily, hands came together sharply, and enthusiastic cries of “Good!” “Good!” were heard all over the room. Then the secretary read a humorous paper on “The Surfman—his first Stormy Patrol,” giving experiences he had gleaned from the crew, and so faithfully reported that they were readily recognized, winning him a round of hand–claps.
“Woodbury!” “Woodbury!” was now heard from several quarters. “That Sea–Sarpent! Let us have it!” “Don’t be bashful!”
Woodbury Elliott was nervously twisting in his chair, the color deepening in his fair complexion, saying, “No! No! I couldn’t!” But the Literary Club had all attended school with him, save Walter and Joe Cardridge (a bad specimen of imported humanity) and they knew what Woodbury could do at “speakin’ pieces.”
That famous character, the sea–serpent, he had made still more famous by his successful delivery, at school, of a comical criticism upon the animal, and in after days, it would often be called for, and was always sure of an admiring audience.
“Well, here goes!” said the surfman, and Woodbury Elliott rose to give once more this marine gem. The laughter following it was hearty as ever, but it had not wholly died away when an unexpected orator, Joe Cardridge, volunteered to entertain the Literary Club.
“Boys, you did not know I was a speaker. Well, I was some, once,” he asserted in his conceited way, “and if you’d like, I’ll give you the ‘Auctioneer.’”
Without waiting for an answer from the club, he called out to Cook Charlie, “Where is that butter firkin I saw round here? I want it to stand on.”
“A leetle ticklish, Joe. I wouldn’t resk it.”