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“We are wrecked!’’ screamed Midshipmite Gabell, hurling his little body
through the hatchway.

“What?” cried the crew.

“We are wrecked!” gurgled the captain, draining the Yale bowl to the dregs.

“What?” cried the crew.

“We are wrecked!” cried Liddell.

Their honest faces brightened.

“We are wrecked!” cried the crew. Light had dawned!

* * * * * * * * * *

When the ensuing hubbub had quieted down, the crew found to their dismay
that the first-class cabin passengers had been blown away. Everything had gone
by the board. The sea was as calm as glass, and slightly astern Bosun Aldrich might
be discerned rowing about in circles and crooning gently to himself, ‘‘Oh, Zion, haste,
thy mission high fulfilling.” When we hailed him, he drew alongside and asked
in a sheepish manner, “Do you think it would be all right for me to come on
board?”

We helped him up, and continued on our way. We had scarcely been under
way five minutes when from the crow’s nest little Gabell piped forth in a voice of
strangled joy, ““Goody, goody. Ship ahoy! A sail!’’ Removing the hairpin
from the thermostat, we brought it up on deck and sighting along it soon made
out a queer little craft making its way towards us. On the sail we deciphered the
name “FIBI REN.” As soon as the boat was near enough, our gallant captain
accosted him.

“Who are you, and what is your business?”

“*My name is Norcross and I rents pants,’’ came the answer.

“Can you cook?” bellowed the captain, who was decidedly tired of our diet.
Up to this time we had had no cook and had barely subsisted on raw tomatoes and
the hash which had somehow managed to accumulate.

As we later discovered, Norcross was a model of domesticity, and although
we were destined to lose him in a few months, our regret was tempered by having
the captain carefully explain to us that he was happily engaged elsewhere.

Once more in an undernourished condition we found life unendurable and put
into Honolulu, where we obtained a first-rate Cook, whose only vice was a passion
for playing cards, which he indulged whenever the chaplain was not sitting on the

deck.*

4 * * * * * * * * *

Days passed, weeks passed, months passed. The Awak sailed on. When last
seen it was a mere speck on the horizon. It is expected in port June 8th, when the
Navy Department has decided to scrap it with the rest of the vessels of its class.

From Rapwnor.
* Joke.

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