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 THE CAPTAIN OF THE LAUNCH ments which had been made concerning his boat, he smiled condescendingly, as if in good-natured pity for the land-lubbers who had spoken disparagingly of his noble ship, and assured me that she was as sound and safe as anybody could wish, and that there was no danger whatever involved in the proposed journey. The fellow seemed to be so entirely certain about the sea worthiness of the launch, that my fears were dispelled as the mist before the sun shine. Certainly his life was as valuable to him as mine was to me. Besides, our bag gage had already gone aboard the boat in question, and it was too much trouble to go to work and have it lugged ashore. Again, there was the prospect of being able to open court at Laoag on the date fixed by law. Fortified by these reflections I re turned to my military friends and dined with them. Their jesting advice that their guest make his will before departing evoked no merriment from the object of the jest, but only a rather forced smile. The fact was that harrowing doubts had begun to arise in my mind as to the soundness of the judgment of the captain of the quarter master's launch. However, the die was cast. Pride prevailed over prudence. The program for departure would stand as fixed. The only graceful thing to do was to "keep a stiff upper lip," and take the chances. During dinner, one of the visitor's ex-comrade-in-arms, who seemed to be the wag of the mess, in proposing the health of the guest regretted that said guest could not have died gloriously in some one of the battles of the late war, leading a charge or otherwise gracing the name and uniform of his country, instead of finding a watery and ignominious grave through accepting the advice of a quartermaster's clerk who knew nothing whatever about ships or navi gation. This last suggestion was rather startling. Mr. "Mark Tapley " had not mentioned during our interview of the afternoon the circumstance that he was innocent of any knowledge of navigation.

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Nevertheless, it was too late to back out now. Though heartily sorry of the deter mination to go on that launch, I was re solved neither to admit nor betray the fact. It is all right to have "cold feet" if you had rather die than show it. After the cigars and coffee, a young officer* who had been ringleader in the bantering, drove the departing traveller in his carromata down to the water-front, where the launch's boat was waiting. He and I had been in more than one campaign together during the insurrection, so he surely would not laugh if asked to take the numbers of the checks I had with me, that they might be established in the event of accident. He did not laugh then. But afte'rward, he always referred to the cir cumstance (he had been a lawyer before going into the army) as the making of my nuncupative will. After we had exchanged good-bye, the boat pulled away into the gloom of the blackest night imaginable, in the direction of the faint and distant twink ling of the lights of the quartermaster's launch. Upon going aboard the captain of the launch and Mr. Brower were discovered in the cabin, telling each other the stories of their respective lives. It seemed that the "Captain" had at one time served a five year enlistment as a soldier in the army and after that had been with a circus. Once upon a time the parachute man of the circus got drunk at the most inopportune time possible, namely, just as a crowd was gathered, pursuant to the advertisement, to see the balloon ascension and customary subsequent descent of the balloonist with the parachute. The manager of the circus, in passing through the dressing room, hurriedly remarked the deplorable crisis to those present. The "Captain" very promptly threw himself' in the breach — came to the rescue — and said: "What is the matter with me going up in the balloon?" Said the manager: "Are you game to do it? " Said the " Captain " : " Sure . ' ' Where upon, the manager took the young fellow