getting round the table with needlework, and with all the windows
shut, they soon had it, as they said themselves, just like being at
home.

All the young boys and the toughs and the men in the band got down
on the lower deck forward, where the boat was dirtiest and where the
anchor was and the coils of rope.

And upstairs on the after deck there were Lilian Drone and
Miss Lawson, the high school teacher, with a book of German
poetry,--Gothey I think it was,--and the bank teller and the
younger men.

In the centre, standing beside the rail, were Dean Drone and Dr.
Gallagher, looking through binocular glasses at the shore.

Up in front on the little deck forward of the pilot house was a group
of the older men, Mullins and Duff and Mr. Smith in a deck chair,
and beside him Mr. Golgotha Gingham, the undertaker of Mariposa, on a
stool. It was part of Mr. Gingham's principles to take in an outing
of this sort, a business matter, more or less,--for you never know
what may happen at these water parties. At any rate, he was there in
a neat suit of black, not, of course, his heavier or professional
suit, but a soft clinging effect as of burnt paper that combined
gaiety and decorum to a nicety.


"Yes," said Mr. Gingham, waving his black glove in a general way
towards the shore, "I know the lake well, very well. I've been pretty
much all over it in my time."