560 
FOREST AND STREAM 
December, 1921 
ITHACA WINS 
Pennsylvania 
Championship 
S. M. Crothers 
won the 
championship 
of Pennsylvania 
with an Ithaca. 
Mr. Crothers has been 
winning all over the 
East since he began 
using an Ithaca. Any 
man can break more 
targets with an 
Ithaca. 
Catalogue Free 
Double guns for game 
$45 up. 
Single barrel trap guns 
$75 up. 
ITHACA 
GUN CO. 
Ithaca, N. Y. 
Box 25 
GENUINE SPEAKMAN 
“MIXOMETER” BATH SHOWERS 
Advertised in Literary Digest at $37.50 
My price $20.00 each. These are used in 
the finest residences. 
H. L. CARROLL 
New Jersey Ave., S. E. Washington, D. C. 
THE SHOOTING TIMES 
AND 
BRITISH SPORTSMAN 
The Sportsman’s Ideal Paper 
deals with 
SHOOTING, FISHING, SPORTING DOGS, Etc. 
SUBSCRIPTION: 21/8 PER ANNUM 
International money orders obtainable at all 
Post Offices 
Specimen Copy forwarded Tost Free on 
application. 
74-77 Temple Chambers, London, E. C. 4 
ICE BOUND ON GREAT SOUTH BAY 
( Continued from page 536) 
Armed with a list which promised to 
exhaust the stock of any ordinary vil- 
lage store, and which no scooter built 
could possibly carry, we set sail at day- 
light for the town of Bayshore. Draw- 
ing lots for the chance, it had fallen to 
my fortune to make the run with our 
kindly pilot, and Pete’s chagrin at being 
left behind gave me but little concern. 
As a matter of fact Pete had been 
grouching a bit of late. I was darned 
glad to get out of his way. “There’s just 
a pint of coal left,” he growled as we 
shoved off, “but I suppose I can freeze 
without making a fuss about it.” “Gallop 
around the beach and keep slapping your- 
self,” I called back maliciously, and we 
were off with a thrust of the hook ! 
T HERE may be better fun than travel- 
ing off wind in a nimble scooter, but 
no one has shown me yet. Their adapt- 
ability to all conditions of ice and water, 
together with light yet strong construc- 
tion, make them, moreover, the sports- 
man’s ideal craft. 
We had gone but a short distance 
when, without warning, the ice seemed to 
drop from under us. “Posh ice,” Samis 
— for I shall call him Samis — announced 
shortly. “Watch her go through it !” 
And she did go through it. The slushy 
mass, seemingly a foot or more deep and 
looking almost impenetrable, slid hissing 
and scratching beneath us. Bump ! we 
had struck hard ice again — and the hook 
shot forward, was buried to the ferrule, 
and up we came on the level once more. 
Crack ! — and we had broken through. 
Another yank up! Crack — and down! 
Again the hook to haul us out forward 
or shove us up from astern. Solid ice 
at last ! — and away at a clipping pace, 
with the ice splinters asparkle as they 
slipped away in the wake of our hook; 
a silvery plain for miles around us, and 
far ahead the sapphire blue of open water 
ribboning the distant “main.” 
I can go back to that run across South 
Bay with all the zest, all the youthful en- 
thusiasm of twenty years ago. I often 
wonder if Pete has fully forgiven us; 
whether Samis recalls that scrap in some- 
body’s barn ! I left a good coat in 
Somebody’s barn. It seemed best at 
the time to abandon it, and I guess I was 
wise at that. 
In looking over what might, but for its 
brevity, be termed a Log of our South 
Bay Cruise, I find several jottings which 
bear on that visit to Bayshore: “Crossed 
to Bayshore with Samis, Tuesday the 
10th. Object— purchase of grub. Nice 
run. Hard ice — slush — open water. 
Met Cap’n Joe — an entirely new specie. 
Attended fight in barn on outskirts of 
town. Cap’n Joe’s son victim. Got out 
alive but left overcoat and $5.00. Re- 
turned to sharpie Wednesday A. M. 
Cap’n Joe with second scooter to pack 
purchases, etc.” I will amplify these 
notes : 
The last half mile of our journey was, 
as I remember it, across clear water 
where the little scooter showed up to 
quite as good advantage as she had in 
the ice and slush. Making shore, we 
beached our cockle shell craft and started 
for the nearby town. Amazingly im- 
possible of transportation my list ap- 
peared as I went over it in detail. Sun- 
dry items such as coal, wood, potatoes, 
I felt could never be accomplished 
in Samis’ tiny scooter. Nevertheless, 
tramping from store to store, we con- 
tinued to add to our supplies. 
It was in a lucky moment — perhaps — 
that we happened on Cap’n Joe. A very 
small, scraggy, and unkempt individual 
was this same Joe; evidently a mariner 
of sorts, for the time being hauled 
ashore. We met him on the Bayshore 
high street just as I had finished buying 
the village and was wondering how to 
move it across to the ocean beach. “We’ll 
have to have another scooter or two,” 
Samis was saying for the hundredth 
time “ — hullo! here comes Cap’n Joe; 
maybe he can help us out.” 
Samis and Cap’n Joe accosted each 
other as old friends. “It’s like this,” Joe 
said, on hearing our proposal. “I might 
be able t’lend a hand an’ then again 1 
mightn’t. There’s things as might pre- 
vent.” He told us then with consider- 
able pride that his son Bill was that night 
to meet the “champeen” of Long Island 
in a bout of some twenty rounds. “Like 
t’see it?” Joe whispered, with a cautious 
look about. It’ll be easy work for Bill. 
You see — ” then followed a list of Bill’s 
qualifications, together with guarded di- 
rections for reaching the arena without 
attracting notice. 
Well, we went. We went, I think, like 
two truant school boys, each realizing 
certain responsibilities which he had no 
right to shirk. Just how Samis recon- 
ciled his conscience I can not say, but 
poor Pete and his pitiful “pint of coal” 
kept recurring to me. I had continually 
to remind myself of how crusty Pete had 
been of late in order to excuse my lapse 
and enjoy the passing moment. 
I shall not dwell long over Joe’s Bill 
and the “champeen” of Long Island. 
Pretty much every community has its one 
man who could “lick the average profes- 
sional if it really comes to that.” When- 
ever matters do come to an issue history 
merely repeats itself. The local celebrity 
takes the count and goes back to his job 
at the mill. Poor Bill proved no ex- 
ception to this almost invariable rule. 
He made a gallant defense, using his 
head, his feet, and I believe, his teeth 
when opportunity offered. It was, how- 
ever, all defense. Bill was outclassed at 
every point. He couldn’t stand the pace. 
We saw it all from the hay loft, Samis 
and I. Sizing up the situation while en- 
thusiasm ran high for the Hope of Bay- 
shore, I had put a modest five spot on 
the other man. In the second round my 
money was all but won. Then, in an in- 
advertent moment, with every one warm- 
ing up physically and temperamentally, 
I took off my rather good ulster and 
threw it aside in the hay. Bill was down 
— down for the third time. A sudden 
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