4*2 



RECREATION 



promise to begin work "first thing Monday 

 morning." He said he had two boats 

 promised for the early part of the week, and 

 would then take hold of the canoe. I felt 

 confidence in him at once, and my heart 

 warmed towards him. With tears in my 

 eyes I told him of my troubles — how I had 

 planned a delightful spring cruise while the 

 water was high, from the head of the Ips- 

 wich River down to the sea. It was now 

 the middle of June, and the opportunities 

 for my chief enjoyment of summer 

 days were slipping by without my being 

 able to grasp them. 



He sympathized with me and said he'd 

 "put her through." 



We launched the Fayette in Lake Che- 

 bacco, on the morning of the Fourth of 

 July, and the wonder and admiration of 

 the people assembled at the boat-house on 

 seeing this diminutive powerboat carried 

 down the slip by two men — its polished sides 

 and nickel trimmings flashing in the sun- 

 light — w r ere hearty and unbounded. 



With an air of deliberation and careless- 

 ness which I had been practising for a week, 

 I stepped a board and swung the fly-wheel 

 over. No cheerful spit responded. Again 

 and again I tried it — without effect. 

 Rolling up the sleeves of my new outing 

 shirt — bought to match the boat — I poked 

 in among the machinery for half an hour, 



searching for the trouble. I got trouble all 

 right — but didn't find the cause. Crestfallen 

 and gloomy I took the paddle and, shoving 

 the canoe across the little cove away from the 

 amused crowd, I pulled her up onto a grassy 

 slope in the shade of a great poplar. 



Hour after hour I toiled away, barking 

 the skin off my knuckles and thumping my 

 fingers. The dory races had been called 

 and rowed. The motorboat prize had 

 been awarded — and my little Fayette, with 

 which I had confidently expected to make 

 the others look like a string of brick-laden 

 barges drifting down the Piscataqua, lay 

 on the bank helpless. 



Suddenly I unscrewed the nozzle of the 

 gasoline tank and peered in. I had for- 

 gotten to fill it! I had spent six mortal 

 hours in trying to start up that engine with- 

 out fuel. Silently and humbly I filled the 

 tank, pushed the Fayette into the water, and 

 the Girl nestled herself comfortably in the 

 cushions at the bow. 



Have I mentioned the Girl? I certainly 

 should not have forgotten her. All through 

 that miserable day she had waited by me, 

 patiently and sympathetically — had bothered 

 me with neither suggestions nor regrets. 

 Three or four times had she fixed her eyes 

 on the opposite shores of the lake, with a 

 dreamy, far-away intentness. This was 

 when I had thumped my thumb with a 



THE FAYETTE FULL-RIGGED FOR MOTORING 



A Seventeen-foot Canvas-covered Paddling Canoe Which, with a One Horse-power Motor Installed, Ran a Measured Mile 



in 6.48 Minutes, Official Time 



