paid hand would be necessary, and the boat might be so moored that one of the club hands would keep a general watch on her to see that no harm befell her in a summer storm, his recompense for this being a generous "tip" at the end of the season.
In nearly all of the yacht clubs in the vicinity of the metropolis special efforts are made to induce owners of small craft to join, and there are facilities for the safe anchorage and also the hauling out of the club's mosquito squadron. In this the clubs act wisely, for the small classes are really the life of the organization, which, without their active interest, might stand a fair chance of perishing of inanition.
Most pleasures are evanescent when compared with the comfort that a sea-dog gets from fixing up his cabin for the season's sport. The ingenuity displayed in making the most of the necessarily limited quarters at his disposal, the stowage of his "dunnage," so as to be able to put his hand on anything at a moment's notice in the dark, the capacity of creating a home-like interior out of chaotic surroundings, call out every faculty.
The first sail on a new boat which is your very own causes a thrill of joy. To see the noble craft respond to the slightest touch of the tiller, to watch her gradually eat her way to windward in the teeth of a merry breeze, with a shining furrow of foam in her wake and her
