Excerpt from The Shadrach: And Other Stories
It was late on a quiet August afternoon that the little yacht "Flippant" sailed into the harbor of a small New England town. The yacht, which was a very small one, belonged to my friend, George Crimrose, who had invited me to take a week"s cruise with him along the coast. There was no one on board but our two selves, and, in fact, there was neither room nor need for anybody else. Crimrose generally sat at the helm, while I acted the part of a crew and steward. Crimrose cooked our meals.
"If General Washington were aboard," he had remarked, "I might let him attend to the sails and anchor, but I should want to do the cooking myself."
We had been out four days and were now bound homeward, and after passing the night in the quiet harbor we proposed to start on our southerly course to Boston. Crimrose had intended going on shore to put a letter in the post-office; but as it was past suppertime before we entered the harbor, he concluded to postpone this until morning. We had no small boat but the yacht, which was sloop-rigged, and was so small that we could easily run her up to a pier, or even ground her on a beach.
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