some place or other and takes a--some kind of a course--and flows into
New York Bay. Once I got kept in, in school, for not knowing that. But
how should I know where this creek went? It came-that was enough for
me. I should worry where it went.

Before I started to swim I decided I'd go under and try to find out what
it was that I'd been standing on. Because I had to thank it. A boy
scout is supposed to be grateful. So I ducked and groped around in the
marshy bottom and I felt something hard with a point to it. I had to come
up for air, then I ducked again and felt around over it and under it. I
joggled it with both my hands and it budged-not much but a little. Then
I came up for air and went down and gave a good tug at it.

I guess it was just kind of caught in the mud and weeds for after I
pulled some of these away a lot of bubbles came up, and then I got
hold of one end of the thing and it stuck up slantingways out of the
water like an alligator's mouth. Oh, gee, it was all slimy and had
moss growing to it and it was black and hard. I was crazy to find out
what it was and I swam around the end of it, bobbing it up and down.
Then I sat on it and rocked it and it joggled. When I straddled it,
it went down with me and when I jerked it, it seemed to get loose a
little. The end that was sticking up wasn't very big around, only it
was terribly slippery. Anyway, I sat on it and tightened my legs around
it just like a fellow does with a balky horse, and then I began jouncing
up and down like on a seesaw.

Pretty soon the other end came up and, oh, boy, didn't I get dumped off
into the water. It looked like a slimy old log floating. I gave it a
turn and then--g--o--o--d night--what do you think it was? It was a
regular Indian dug-out.