Oct. i 6, 1909 ] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
625 
I sought him out, and stated in the clearest way, 
that 1 wanted my yacht, Early Bird, hauled out 
for the winter, cleaned and painted and launched 
in the spring, and how much would it cost? 
Rawlings gazed at me steadily, for a few 
seconds, with an air of incredulity; then shook 
his head and pointed dramatically to the water- 
lot, where two or three small boats were al¬ 
ready high and dry, and said with great severity: 
“The C. P. R. owns the lot.” 
“Quite true, Mr. Rawlings; but I understand 
that you have the use of it,” but Rawlings was 
still looking me over in a rather contemptuous 
way. Presently he rumbled out: 
“The Early Bird, you say—built by Tompkins 
after a design of his own invention; now what 
does he know about yachts?” 
Somewhat nonplussed at the introduction of 
this irrevelant question, I was about to reply, 
when he broke in with, “Come over to my 
shop, and you’ll see what a boat ought to be.” 
There was nothing for it but to fall in with 
his humor, and some time was spent in the 
examination of a boat just planked up, over 
whose many points of excellence he waxed ex¬ 
tremely voluble. Several attempts failed before 
I was able to steer him back to my particular 
business, only to be met with: 
“Haul her out? Who said I couldn’t, and 
where can you get done better, that’s what I’d 
like to know.” 
“Of course,” I said, “and the price will be?” 
Before answering, Rawlings carefully filled 
and lighted his pipe. 
“Oh, yes,” he grumbled, I know all about it. 
Tompkins charged too much for that boat— 
why didn’t they come to me? Now Eve got 
to haul her out; well, I can’t say, except that 
the price will be fair as between man and man. 
Do you want any better terms than that?” 
I told him I wanted an estimate at least, and 
finally, after much head-shaking, got him to 
name fifty dollars, as an outside figure. This 
was a fancy price, but I concluded to take 
chances, rather than send the boat to an out¬ 
side place. Some casual inquiries, made later, 
brought out that this was Rawlings’ usual 
method of doing business. When any sort of 
job was offered him, he either interposed ob¬ 
jections, or became sublimely indifferent. For 
the work of other boat builders he had a fine 
contempt, and he was altogether averse to 
quoting prices. Yet those who patronized him 
once, always went back a second time, and I 
was informed that if Rawlings undertook to 
look after the Early Bird, I might spare my¬ 
self any further anxiety on the subject. 
Accordingly, I stripped the yacht during the 
next week, and sent the gear to my home, 
where there was a convenient den which served 
as workshop and smoking room. Taking ad¬ 
vantage of a fair breeze, I hoisted a foresail, 
and sailed the Early Bird to Rawlings’ shop; 
made fast and announced myself. He received 
me quite affably, but with calm disregard of 
the object of my visit, plunged into a long 
story of the boat he was building, the boats 
he had built, and particularly the boats he was 
going to build if he got the chance, with much 
more to the same effect. I listened patiently, 
and was eventually rewarded; for after several 
reminders that the Early Bird was at his dock, 
he condescended to step outside and look at her. 
“Any ballast?” he said, “lead ballast? Can’t 
be responsible for such valuable stuff.” I as¬ 
sured him that most of the ballast was outside, 
and a little used for trimming had been dis¬ 
charged at the club house. He gave a grunt of 
approval, and remarked: 
“Cabin fittings aboard? Cushions and look¬ 
ing glasses and such truck?” 
I explained that they had all been removed, 
and as he still appeared dissatisfied, invited him 
to go below and inspect for himself. He com¬ 
plied with alacrity, and peered around with much 
curiosity, questioning me about various lockers 
and expressing the opinion that there could 
not be too many aboard a yacht. I opened 
them up, one after another, finally coming upon 
a small whiskey flask, more than half full. With 
great presence of mind, I remarked that it was 
no use leaving it there, and fishing out an old 
mug, invited him to have something with me. 
His response was instantaneous; helping him¬ 
self to something better than a first mate’s nip, 
he left no more than I could dispose of; a 
thoughtful act, for I am a poor drinker. After 
that he thawed out perceptibly, even going so 
far as to say a good word for the design of 
the Early Bird. He promised to have her 
hauled out as soon as he could, but would fix 
no date. With this I left, intending to call 
around in a week, and stir him up if necessary. 
Three days later I chanced to be in that lo¬ 
cality, and was agreeably surprised to find the 
yacht high and dry, and the deck securely- 
housed. She was shored up in the most sub¬ 
stantial manner, the outside had been cleaned 
off and apparently rubbed down with pumice 
stone; the seams were smooth, and all cracks 
stopped in a way that suggested immediate 
launching. Rawlings was not to be found, but 
a few days later I looked him up, and dis¬ 
covered that he had given the boat a thin coat 
of red lead, below the waterline, and shrouded 
the top sides with old canvas. Evidently he 
knew his business. 
My attention was now turned to overhauling 
the gear, and the many odd hours spent in this 
work kept me in touch with the sport during 
the winter. My den was a large basement 
room, fitted with a working bench, a lathe, and 
a very miscellaneous assortment of tools and 
apparatus, the accumulations of years. There 
were also a couple of easy chairs, shabby and 
comfortable, and a stove. Altogether it was a 
mighty good place for tinkering with the gear 
of a small yacht, also for laying plans, seeing 
visions, and dreaming dreams. A choice blend 
of tarred rope and tobacco always insured a 
proper atmosphere; good clean smells, both of 
them. Christmas passed, and I calculated that 
three months would see me afloat. January 
brought steady cold weather, with thick ice on 
the bay; February was stormy and still cold; 
March came in like a lion, with a blustering 
blizzard that paralyzed traffic. Then the 
weather relented; the sun asserted his strength, 
a thaw set in, and the icy fastnesses of winter 
dripped and gurgled themselves away. By the 
middle of the month the streets were almost 
cleared of snow, the ice in the bay was honey¬ 
combed, and reported unusually thick. 
I hunted up Rawlings, and told him to have 
the Early Bird ready for launching as soon as 
the bay was clear. Strange to say, this unusual 
order provoked no opposition, and a couple of 
days afterward I found him busy painting the 
deck and top sides. The fine weather lasted 
just long enough to dry the paint, and then it 
came on to blow from the east, with heavy 
rain. A three days’ gale it was, with leaden 
skies and smoky seas, and as the end ap¬ 
proached, the howling of the wind was mingled 
with the grinding of ice floes in the bay. All 
night this lasted, so it seemed, but in the morn¬ 
ing the sun shone, and the bay was clear. 
A visit to Rawlings found the yacht afloat; 
in fact, he had obeyed instructions literally, and 
put her into the water two hours after the ice 
had gone. I concluded to fit out to some ex¬ 
tent where she lay; not a heavy job, for every 
inch of the gear was ready to go into its place. 
When all ready to sail for the club moorings, 
I asked Rawlings how much I owed him. His 
face asumed an expression that would have 
done credit to a chief justice sentencing a man 
to be hanged by the neck until dead; then he 
began slowly and deliberately: 
“Hauling out and shoring up, house on deck, 
paint and putty, screw, nails and bolts—all 
right, isn’t it?” I assented. 
“Looking after her, caulking seams, keeping 
off boys, sandpaper and tacks.” 
Here he paused until I again assented. 
“Painting decks, painting top sides, painting 
bottom with copper paint, grease for the ways— 
and launching.” 
Here he stopped, and I decided to end the 
agony by asking, “How much is it?” 
Perhaps this was not the proper thing to do; 
one must not interrupt a poet in the middle of 
a rhapsody, and Rawlings looked annoyed. 
For a moment he hung in the wind, and then 
ARTHUR BINNKY 
(Formerly Stewart & Binnby) 
Naval Architect and Yacht Broker 
Mason Building. Kilby Street, BOSTON, MASS. 
Cable Address, “Designer," Boston 
COX (EL STEVENS 
Yacht Brokers and Naval Architects 
15 William Street, - -New York 
Telephones 1375 and 1376 Broad 
Where, When and How to Catch 
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FOREST AND STREAM PUBLISHING CO. 
Canoe and Boat Building. 
A Complete Manual for Amateurs. Containing plain 
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