J. Archibald McKackney
On the top of these trials, the able seaman, Peter O'Dwyer, persisted in making fish-nets for diversion. Of course he had to upset a bucket of tar in his whiskers, and Heaven only knew whether I could get him cleaned up in time for the first rehearsal. When Mr. Colby and his friends were not playing golf, they started a fresh row among old Rust, the musical crank, and the Portuguese cook, and egged them on with Harvard cheers. I breathed a prayer of fervent thanksgiving when Wilkins wired that he was en route with the twenty-second prize in tow. This musical fragment proved to be an Irish stevedore with a coy and peerless fringe sprouting from beneath his smooth-shaven chin. I was so glad to see Wilkins that I included this Mr. O'Hara in my effusive greeting at the station. The old gentleman was ill at ease and backed away from me as he croaked:
"Your fifty dollars is in me pants, and I'd go half way to Hell for twice as much as that. But I'll be ready to lep through a windy if you do begin talkin' to yourself and makin'
