BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
"Yes, boys, de tide's a-comin' in now. Dat yot ob mine'll float afore long."
"General," said Bob Fogg, "may we have your skiff for our yacht club a little while to-day?"
"No, sah," replied George Washington, positively, with a wide grin on his wrinkled, old, very black face. "De club can't hab no skiff ob mine. Ef dey wants to borry my yot, dey can, dough."
"Bob," said Tommy Conners, "don't you know a sailin' vessel from a skiff?"
"Look at the mast," said Gus Martin.
"And the sail," said Stuyvesant Rankin, with some dignity.
"Now, Sty," said General George Washington, as he limped a few feet further from the spot where his rugged-looking old boat lay stuck in the mud, "wot do you know 'bout sails? Youah mudder nebber went to sea. She's a dressmaker."
"We can have the yacht, then, General, mast and sail and all?"
The little old black man evidently liked the members of that club, but he shook his grizzled head doubtfully. "You mought tip ober, and git yerselves drownded."