Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1909-09-18
CHAPTER I.
DerelictS.

CdAtIEH l.
Derelicts.
Its fine.' said Arthur Warden, lower
ing his binoculars so as to glut his eyes
with the full spectacle. I'm fact. it's
more than fine. it's glorious!"
He spoke aloud in his enthusiasm. A
stout. elderly man who stood near-a man
with retired tradesman' writ large on
face and figure-believed that the tall.
spare-bult yachtsman was praisng the
weather.
Yes. SIR" he chortled, pompously, this
is a reel August day. I knew 1t. Fust
thing this morning 1 tole my missus we
was In for scorcher."
Warden gradually became aware that
these ineptitudes were by way of COM
ment. He turned and read the weather
prophets label at a glance But life was
too gracious at that moment. and ne
was far too we'll disposed toward all men
that he should dream of inflicting a snub.
THAT was rather clever of you.' he
agreed, genially. Now. though the
barometer stood high. I personally was
dreading a fog three hours ago."
The portly one gurgled.
1--WE go. a glass;" he announced. "Gev'
three pun ten for 1t, but there's bar
rowmeter In my bones that's worth
dozen O. them things. I'll back rheu-
matiz an a side O. bacon any day to beat
the best glass ever invented"
All unknowing. here was the touch Of
genius that makes men listen. Warden
showed his interest.
"a side of bacon!' he repeated.
Eyes. sir. Nothing to ekal it. 1 was
in the trade so / know wot I'm talkin'
about. And, when you come to think of
it, why not? Pig skin an salt-one Of 'em
want it an shows tan t'other sucks it
up like a calf drinkin' milk. I've han
died bacon In tons, every brand in the
market, an you can't smoke any Of 'em
on a muggy day"
Does your theory account for the old
fashioned notion that pigs can see the
wind?''
The stout man considered the point. It
was new to him and he was conserva-
tive.
I'm better acquent wi bacon" he said.
stubbornly.
so I gather. I was only developing
your very original idea, on the principle
that
- You may break. you may chatter, the vase If
But the scent of the roses will hang round It
STILL
The ex-bacon factor raped an emphatic
some of his friends would see him hob
nobbing with swell" he refused to be
made game Of
"Wot as scent got to do with it?' he
demanded. wrathfully.
Everything. Believe me. pigs have
been used as pointers. And consider the
porcine love Of flowers Why. there once
was pig named Maud because 1t would
come into the garden
Had Warden laughed he might have
given the cue that was lacking. But his
clean-cut, somewhat sallow face did not
relax, and an angry man puffed away
from him In a red temper
He caught scraps of soliloQuy.
"a pig named Maud! . . Did anybody
ever hear the like? . An becos It KEN
into garden. -. Might just as well
ave called it Maria
Then Warden left at peace with the
world. devoted himself again to the ex-
quisite panorama of Cowes on a sunlit
Monday of the towns great week. In
front sparkled the waters Of the Solent.
the Bond street Of ocean highways A
breath of air from the west rippled over
strong current sweeping eastward. 1t
merely kissed the emerald plain into tiny
facets. 1t was so light breeze that any
ordinary sailing craft would have failed
to make Roadway against the tide. and
the gay flags and bunting Of an innumer-
able pleasure fleet hung sleepily from
their STATS and halyards. Yet 1t suf1ced
to bring a covey Of white-winged yachts
flying back to Cowes after rounding the
East Lepe buoy. backyard topsails and
bowsprit spinnakers preened before it.
Though almost imperceptible on shore, it
awoke these gorgeous butterflies of the
sea into life and motion. Huge twenty
three-meter cutters, such as White
Heather II. Brynhild and Nyria, splendid
cruisers like Maoona, Merrymaid, Shima,
Creole and Britomart. Swooped grandly
into the midst of the anchored craft as
though bent on self-destruction. To the
unskilled eye it seemed a sheer miracle
that any of them should emerge from the
chaos Of. yachts. redwings. launches. mo-
c.t<v, et@n H.
fry that beset their path. But Cowes is
nothing if not nautical. Those who un-
ders;o God knew that bowsprfts and din
ghies of moored yachts would be cleared
ped to avoid lesser obstruction. Those
who did not Understandable heard no
syllable Of the full and free language
that greeted an inane rowboat essaytng
an adventurous crossing of the course
gazed breathlessy at these wondrous
argosies. and marveled at their escape
from disaster. Then the white fleet swept
past the mouth of the river and vanished
behind Old Castle Point on the way to
far distant buoy or lightship that marked
the beginning Of the homeward run. And
that was ALA brief flight Of fairy ships
and Cowes forthwith settled down to dec
orous junketing.
Away to the northwest q gathering of
gray-hulled monsters had thundered a
royal salute Of twenty-one guns. and the
smoke-cloud still lay in a blue film on the
Hampshire coast. The Dreadnought was
hauling at her anchors before taking
king and an emperor to witness the
prowess Of her gunners- The emperor's
private yacht, half-fedged man-o-war.
was creeping in the wake Of the compel
ing yachts. Perchance her officers might
see more Of British gunnery practice than
of the racing.
Close at hand a swarm of launches and
ships boats buzzed round the landing
slip Of the Royal Yacht Club. The beau
tiful lawn and gardens were living par
terres of color. for the Castle Is a ia
nous rendezvous Of we'll dressed women.
Parties were assembling for luncheon
either in the clubhouse or on board the
palatial vessels in the roads. To the null
titude. yachting at Cowes consists OF the
blare of a starting gun, the brief vision
of a cluster of yachts careening under an
amazing press of canvas. and. for the
rest. gossip, eating, bridge-with picnic
or dance to exc out the afternoon ana
evening.
Arthur Warden soon turned his back
on the social paradise he was not privi-
x%a4t tn .