The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1898-07-27


&$G-rk-kA9 block" was Captain
@-S@ Matt Hanford. He
was as good man as ever walked a
deck-short. thick-set, with a copper
red tint to his well-seasoned face, and
pair of small, twinkling gray eyes.
Billy was reduced copy of his father.
II was hard to tell which OF tkem ad-
mired the other most.
Captain Matt was the sailing master
of the Sea Conch, stanch sailing
yacht built for racing and owned by a
wealthy young New Yorker. Her
owner meant to take her over to the
Isle of Wight and race the Prince of
Wales's Britannia, the German En-
peror's Meteor, or any of the smart
English cutters that wanted to try con-
clusions with Yankee keel.
Captain Matt had promised Billy
that if he came out at the head of his
class at school he would take him
along. Billy came out ahead. He
would have done so in any case, for he
wasn't going to let any boy find out
more things than he did.
1t isn't every boy that has a chance
to go to Europe when he is fourteen
But no boy ever enjoyed a trip there
more than Billy Hanford The Sea
Conch got beaten in the races; that
was the only drawback to the trip.
Billy was convinced that the reason of
this was that the owner of the yacht
sailed her himself IN the race. If his
father had handled the boat. the other
yachts would have been nowhere-so
Billy firmly believed.
The young owner of the Sea Conch
told Captain Matt that he could run up
to London for two or three days be-
fore he took the yacht back. This was
some consolation to Billy. He was
going to see the biggest town in the
world!
He was bound not to admit that it
was much better than New York. OF
course, it was bigger. But look how
much longer it had been growingl The
buildings in New York were a good
deal higher than anything they could
show in London. Hyde Park wasn't t
anywhere beside Central Park.
One day Captain Matt took his son
to visit the docks. The boy looked
around on the hundreds of acres of
massive cut-stone piers with great
lakes of water between them and said
nothing. The Brooklyn Navy Yard
compared to these immense docks was
like duck pond.
Billy, these docks cost hundreds
of thousands of pounds" said the
Captain to his son, impressively.
"Two hundred thousand pounds is
pretty nearly a million dollars" re-
marked that young hopeful, as if to
warn his father not to use figures
recklessly.
'Well, Billy" replied his father,
grimly, zone of them, the London
Docks, cost four million pounds.
Pounds" he repeated. "Figger that
out. And they aren't half as big as
these West India Docks we're going
to. And the Victory and Albert Docks
are over two miles long, and all lit
up with electricity. And they've got
machine that just hoists a vessel
right up in the air, willie they clean
her. What do you think of that?"
"Oh, they're big" answered Billy.
When he couldn't think of anything
in America which was better than
what he saw in London he kept pretty
quiet. But this was through no lack
of appreciation. He enjoyed seeing
these wonders thoroughly, only he
was an out and out American who
loved his own great country.
But when they got to the Docks
where Captain Matt hoped to find the
Peal of India, on which was an old
sea friend of his, they could see next
to nothing. A real London fog had
wrapped everything in its mighty
folds.
Here Billy could say with truth
that they didn't have anything in New
York which was one-tenth as bad.
There is not good word can be said
for London fog-one of the real,
thick, ugly kind. 1t is impossible to
do it justice. You have to experience
one before you can realize how bad il
is. 1t is mist thick enought to cut
yellow, or gray, or black, with q
smell like SCOT. It gets into the eyes
and makes them smart till the tears
come. 1t rasps your throat to raw
ness when you breathe it in. Objects
across the street can hardly be seen
The lamps in the streets, in tn,
shops, and on the cabs are all lit, bu
they are smothered and show only
little, fsickly yellow spots Of light.