you the gospel truth, Bud, I ain't never
been on a sailboat in my life; but I'm game to play her one whirl if
you'll just wait until I get my breakfast."

"How long will it take?" sez he. "Deuced if I know," sez I. "I've been
waitin' hereabout two hours already an' the' ain't none showed up yet."

"Why don't you go to a restaurant?" sez he.

"I thank you kindly for the suggestion," sez I; "but the same brilliant
idee occurred to me a little over two hours ago, an' all my
finger-nails is wore to the quick tryin' to scratch up enough change."

He studied my face a moment, then he chuckled up a laugh, an' scooted
over to an eatin'-house, comin' back with a lot o' stuff an' some
coffee. Then we got into the boat an' begun to sail. Oh, it certainly
was grand! By the time I had made it up with my stomach we were out on
the Pacific Ocean, an' I felt like Christopher Columbus.

Enjoy myself? Well. I guess I did! I felt like a boy with copper-toed
boots an' a toy balloon. Then things began to churn up wild an'
furious. Fatty said that Pacific meant mild an' peaceful--the darned,
sarcastic, little liar! The storm that was presently kazooin' along was
fierce an' horrible, an' that dinky little soap-bubble cut up
scand'lous.

We went jumpin' an' slidin' ahead, tilted away over on one side, but
Fatty never turned a hair; he said it was nothin' but a capful o' wind,
an' he sat in the back end o' the boat with a little stick in his hand,
hummin' tunes an' havin' the time of his life; but give me a bunch of
blizzard-scared long-horns for mine.

I never knowed a boat was so human. This one bucked an' kicked an'
reared up an' tried to fall over on its back, the same as a mustang;
while I held on with my teeth an' wondered if it was a put-up job. Then
I began to feel as though I had partakin' of a balloon. I gritted my
teeth an' swallered hot water constant; but it wasn't no use; purty
soon that beautiful breakfast began to fight its way to liberty. Layer
after layer, up it came; an' all the while mebbe I wasn't feelin' like
a tender-foot, with that fat little cuss puffin' his pipe in the back
seat, as happy as a toad.

After a bit he looks at me purty sympathetic like, an' sez, "You seem
to have a weak stomach."

"Weak?" I yells. "Weak! why you doggone son of a pirate, it kicks like
a shotgun every time it goes off. Weak!"

We stayed out on our pleasure trip the best part of the day, me layin'
with what used to be my head jam