Mr. Cooke,
having produced yachting suits from their inexhaustible wardrobes.
Mr. Trevor and his daughter, Mrs. Cooke and Miss Thorn, and Farrar
and myself completed the party. We were to adhere strictly to primeval
principles: the ladies were not permitted a maid, while the Celebrity
was forced to leave his manservant, and Mr. Cooke his chef. I had,
however, thrust into my pocket the Minneapolis papers, which had been
handed me by the clerk on their arrival at the inn, which happened just
as I was leaving. 'Quod bene notandum!'

Thereby hangs a tale!

For the northern lakes the day was rather dead: a little wind lay in the
southeast, scarcely enough to break the water, with the sky an intense
blue. But the Maria was hardly cast and under way before it became
painfully apparent that the Celebrity was much better fitted to lead
a cotillon than to sail a boat. He gave his orders, nevertheless, in
a firm, seamanlike fashion, though with no great pertinence, and thus
managed to establish the confidence of Mr. Cooke. Farrar, after setting
things to rights, joined Mrs. Cooke and me over the cabin.

"How about hoisting the spinnaker, mate?" the Celebrity shouted after
him.

Farrar did not deign to answer: his eye was on the wind. And the boom,
which had been acting uneasily, finally decided to gybe, and swept
majestically over, carrying two of the Four in front of it, and all but
dropped them into the water.

"A common occurrence in a light breeze," we heard the Celebrity reassure
Mr. Cooke and Miss Thorn.

"The Maria has vindicated her sex," remarked Farrar.

We laughed.

"Why don't you sail, Mr. Farrar?" asked Mrs. Cooke.

"He can't do any harm in this breeze," Farrar replied; "it isn't strong
enough to get anywhere with."

He was right. The boom gybed twenty times that morning, and the
Celebrity offered an equal number of apologies. Mr. Cooke and the Four
vanished, and from the uproarious laughter which arose from the cabin
transoms I judged they were telling stories. While Miss Thorn spent the
time profitably in learning how to conn a yacht. At one, when we had
luncheon, Mohair was still in the distance. At two it began to cloud
over, the wind fell flat, and an ominous black bank came up from the
south. Without more ado, Farrar, calling on me to give him a hand, eased
down the halliards and began to close reef the mainsail.

"Hold on," said the Celebrity, "who told you to do that?"

"I am very sure you didn