190 



THE RAT 



life, of the eternal plash of the waves singing " Hush- 

 a-bye, baby," of the white sheets of bellying canvas, 

 of the milky wake which follows the speeding ship, 

 and of the effortless wings of the gulls which keep 

 pace astern ; and, after all, don't you know, I rather 

 believe that they are right. Storms are very un- 

 pleasant things, whether they take place on sea or 

 elsewhere, but when the fine day comes at last, and 

 the sopping clothes are hung out to dry, they re- 

 member no more the sorrow for joy that a smile 

 has once more spread itself over the broad face of 

 ocean. I tell you, old pal, and I believe that you 

 will agree with me, that my humble opinion is that 

 if it were not for the rough places in life — and sure 

 enough tve find plenty of them — we should not 

 enjoy the smooth patches one little bit. That is 

 why a rat is so full of fun and mischief, because 

 every man's hand is against him, and troubles come 

 thick and frequent. The result naturally is that 

 when he cloes steer his storm-tossed craft into a bit 

 of calm water he goes on the bust at once, so to 

 speak, and flicks his tail about, and stands on his 

 hind legs, and eats something that he was never 

 meant to eat — ^something probably that selfish man 

 was storing up for himself, and selfish man at once 

 picks up half a brick and heaves it about, and says, 



