45§ 



RECREATION 



and we were going at break-neck 

 speed. 



It was a bad situation, and the crowd 

 yelled blue murder. Realizing its dan- 

 ger, I thrust the paddle out quickly and 

 it struck a bit of rough paint on the 

 ship's side, and the paddle stuck. I 

 shoved, and the light thing moved away. 

 I gave one rapid stroke with the paddle 

 and again the boat missed being shiv- 

 ered against the ladder by about a foot. 

 It was dramatic. The crowd was wild. 

 As I scudded out to safety I doffed my 

 cap and bowed as easily as I could, but 

 my heart was in my mouth. 



And there stood Mr. Peterson, of 

 Paris, on the ladder, his heart aching 

 for "prestige." 



Cautiously I aproached his position. 

 The waves were running like moun- 

 tains, and the thing under me was more 

 tricky than any broncho. Still, there 

 was no danger as long as I kept my 

 head. But I was deadly afraid of that 

 flying leap of Mr. Peterson's. I en- 

 tertained the notion of paddling around 

 the ship myself ; then passing the boat 

 over to him to perform the same ma- 

 noeuvre. But that would have looked 

 selfish. 



Down we went. Then up. Then 

 down again. We would first be close 

 to the ladder, then far away. Finally 

 a huge wave came ; up I went toward 

 its crest, up and up to the ladder. At 

 that stage of the game Mr. Peterson 

 threw his paddle at the boat and I was 

 compelled to dodge to prevent the thing 

 from hitting me on the head. The pad- 

 dle went overboard on the other side, 

 and I dared not reach for it. Mr. Pe- 

 terson was excited, and that meant 

 trouble. 



"Leap!" I yelled, just as the boat 



and I reached the great wave's summit. 

 The crowd gasped. Mr. Peterson, his 

 eyes glaring like a strangling man's, 

 gripped the rail of the ladder, bent his 

 knees slightly, then sprang with all his 

 might. 



He shot clear over the canvas tub 

 and never touched her. With his hands 

 outstretched above his head, and his 

 mouth wide open, he sank into the brine 

 at least five feet beyond the outside gun- 

 wale of the tub. 



The crowd on the decks went frantic. 

 Somebody hit me in the neck with a 

 life preserver, as I was backing away 

 from the ladder, and I came within an 

 ace of losing my paddle. 



Down the ladder came Mr. Mitchell, 

 the first officer. Quickly I backed away 

 from the scene. It would have been 

 madness for me to have tried to save 

 Mr. Peterson in that canvas wash tub. 

 It would have resulted in the death of 

 both of us. 



With remarkable alacrity a life boat 

 shot down from the davits, manned by 

 the bo'sun and his mate. The first offi- 

 cer stood knee deep in the brine as the 

 waves swept by. The mouths of every- 

 body in sight stood wide open. Mean- 

 time, Mr. Peterson was delving into the 

 Pacific. 



Presently he came up. Out of the 

 water popped his head within arm's 

 length of that deadly ladder. Mr. 

 Mitchell reached out his hand, caught 

 him by the tail of the red pajamas, 

 and hauled him upon the firmest terra 

 firma that Mr. Peterson ever knew. 



The crowd gave vent to a yell that 

 drowned the roar of the Pacific Ocean, 

 at the ludicrous picture, and the "pres- 

 tige" of Mr. Peterson of Paris had been 

 thoroughly accomplished. 



