MR. PETERSON, OF PARIS 



455 



game for anything. He wasn't so par- 

 ticular about the money, but he wanted 

 the "prestige" on board the ship. 



It was rather amusing, Mr. Peter- 

 son's thought of "prestige." Neverthe- 

 less, his ambitions served the purpose 

 admirably. The next morning, after 

 coffee, I went into the baggage room 

 and ordered the folding boat to be car- 

 ried on deck. With the assistance of 

 Mr. Peterson and the bo'sun I put her 

 together. By the time the operation, 

 which consumed some fifteen minutes, 

 was completed, half the ship's company 

 had assembled to see what was 

 ress. 



In truth I had ordered the b 

 the West, and she had ar- 

 rived in New York the very 

 day we sailed. I had, there- 

 fore, never seen her before, 

 except as a brown canvas 

 package. In fact, I believe 

 it was the first folding boat 

 I ever saw. I do not remem- 

 ber exactly what my mental 

 conception of a folding boat 

 was before that one was put 

 together, but I do remember 

 that I was distinctly disap- 

 pointed when I saw her "set 

 up" on the ship's deck. The 

 thing looked more like a foot 

 tub than a boat. She was 

 eleven feet long and a foot 

 deep, and I imagined that 

 she would be as stable in a 

 sea as a bicycle with the 

 front wheel missing would 

 be on an icy pavement. 



I glanced at Mr. Peterson, but al- 

 ready the crowd had begun to notice 

 him and "prestige" was in the air. He 

 saw nothing extraordinary about the 

 boat. 



I glanced over the ship's rail at the 

 swell, and I estimated that it was run- 

 ning some twenty feet high. That 

 Peruvian surf was monstrous and un- 

 ceasing, being created by a southwest 

 trade wind, which rages just beyond 

 the Humboldt stream. The great, rest- 

 less, glassy waves looked like the foot- 



hills of the distant Andes from the 

 ship's deck. And the roadstead was 

 filled with sharks. 



However, I had had a great deal of 

 ocean experience, having been the cap- 

 tain of a crew that, during 1901 and '02, 

 rowed an open boat forty-five hun- 

 dred miles through American water- 



FOR THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS AND WINE FOR SIX 



ways, ending up with a winter-time 

 run from Eastport, Maine, to Hatteras, 

 on the open ocean. 



I reasoned, therefore, that I knew 

 something about the ocean, and that 

 Mr. Peterson (judging from his con- 

 versation) knew more. 



I sent for "Puell." 



"See here, Tuell,' " said I, "you see 

 that wash tub. Well, that's an Ameri- 

 can built wash tub. Now, for thirty- 

 five dollars, and wine for six, served 

 any time we want it, Mr. Peterson, of 

 Paris, and I will guarantee to launch 



