The Washington herald., 1906-11-11

Tokens.
Il licked you. Morty. the night Of the
party ashore, but / don't hold no grudge.
Let has-beens be has-beens. And say,
I'll make you new leg
We'll. 1 should hope so. I can't set
here on the cabin roof all my days"
'Wiu you have II hard or soft?'
Must the leg be boiled. or are you
going 10 steam it?" Morty asked. with
some irritation.
Hard or soft wood is wot I mean,
stammered Bill.
Make 1t soft. for my step is light and
airy"
The mate got tools and a stick Of pine,
and set 20 work, while Mr. Bloke watch
ed the operation.
rs mayhem on the high seas a proper
serious crime?" BIZ asked
Term in the pen at hard labor and
beans said the victim Mayhem is
next TO hitting a man with spectacIes on
his face. There's a $500 fine for that I
reckon YOU know it,
Bill didn't know it till that moment, but
he believed that popular fallacy current
among tough mugs.
Get q biscuit for the dog"
Not only did Bill subpoena a biscuit,
but he had the nerve 70 spread it with
butter and smile at Ike when he served
the tidbit
For a searfaring man, I'm proper fond
Of dogs myself" said Bill I worship
EN-. Ever see a wrist dog?"
After thinking il over, Mr.. Tokens had
never seen one, he said.
Curious and likewise queer little ami
mile" BIZ went on. They has 'em
thick in Chiny. Little cusses. they are.
no bigger than kittens. Rich mandareens
wear the wrist dog up the sleeve. His
front legs IS bent like an ice tongs. and
he hooks onto the pulse and sticks there,
a peering out Of the sleeve. Now, 'spose
another rich mandareen comes I'D to slap
the hrst one on the wrist Wot does ne
do? He shoves out the dog and gives the
other Chink a proper dose Of hydro
phoby"
This remarkable method Of conferTinC
hyprophobia while you wait softened Mr..
Tokens. lie said he thought he would
Ike the new leg fully as well as the
old one.
We have Il singular dog in San Fran
cisco" Mr. Bloke butted IN with. seeing
that dogs struck the popular fancy. He
is a wonder and then some At the cours-
ing parks they chase Jack rabbits with
greyhoUnds. one season an epidemic
killed of the rabbits and the sport was
about TO blow. But a smart Irishman
crossbred the greyhound and the jack
rabbit. and produced an animal that could
chase itself"
The idee,' said Bill. staggered to the
verge of disbelief
wait till Ike gets a chance TO show
or" warned Mr.. Tokens Hes a pip
pin"
Meanwhile Bill had finished the leg. He
beveled one side Of the stump and an
end Of the new peg. fastened them to-
gether with screws and tackled a band Of
sheet brass over the joint
There you are" said Bill, stepping
back to note the general effect. Any
gent could be proud Of that jury leg. It's
a good At, I hope"
Mr.. Tokens strapped himself into the
harness and took q turn about the deck.
holding onto the rigging Finding that
the jury leg worked according TO Hoyle.
all hands went down for breakfast. The
stowaway helped himself twice to the
butter, and the captain never said a
word.
At 4 o'clock in the afternoon a fuzzy.
blear-eyed young giant crawled out Of
the forward house. He was one Of the
drugged seamen dumped aboard when
the LuIy Alice sailed the previous day at
noon.
''Wot's your name?" asked the mate,
who had the watch on deck.
"T. Wilson, Of Ohio" the fuzzy one re-
piled. glaring wildly around
sink the Ohio part and take the
wheel" said Bill
"Oh, very we'll" replied T. Wilson,
stumbling off toward the bow.
I said the wheel. you half-baked lob
sterl"
This gentle hint told T. Wilson the
wheel must lie IN the other direction. He
worked HIS way aft to the cockpit, re-
lieved the man at the spokes. and in an
instant had the bark fat aback. She
swung around bow to the wind, with the
sails Stating and banging and threaten
ing to rip the masts up by the roots The
second mate, awakened by the canOnad-
ing, came tearing UP from his bunk ar
rayed in a short Undershirt. All hands,
save Mr.. Tokens, laid hold of the braces.
After a lot Of handling and yanking the
old bark swung back on her course and
the uproar subsided
Are you sailor?" Jute demanded of
T. Wilson. who had stood open-mouthed
while the fireworks were going off.
Il am not, never was and never expect
to be. They kidnapped me, guess
What is your business?" asked Jute,
edging up, but not daring to hit the lob
ster because of his size.
I'm a farmer. That's all"
OF all professional men the tiller of the
soil at sea arouses the direst contempt in
the bosom of the honest mariner. Jute
stood speechless and glaring at T. VIII
son until an idea struck him.
There's a pig in the pen under the
bow. Go forward and scrub him. That's
the only agricultural pursuit open to you
here. And when you've got him scrub
bed" yelled the captain, as the farmer
went slouching away. you may manicure
his hoofs!'
Spirited squeals from the bow soon pro-
claimed that 7. Wilson. Of Ohio, was get
ting in his deadly work with the scrub
bing brush down on the farm.
That's another way we captains get it
in the neck sighed Jute, explaining to
the tourist THE crimps shanghaied that