say, when they were wondering what to do next.  Some persons who had not “taken nicely” would perform a special trip in the lifeboat and would wear special clothes and compose special faces for the ordeal.  The Mayor of Ashby-de-la-Zouch for that year ordered two hundred copies of a photograph which showed himself in the centre, for presentation as New Year’s cards.  On the mornings after very dull days or wet days, when photography had been impossible or unsatisfactory, Llandudno felt that something lacked.  Here it may be mentioned that inclement weather (of which, for the rest, there was little) scarcely interfered with Denry’s receipts.  Imagine a lifeboat being deterred by rain or by a breath of wind!  There were tarpaulins.  When the tide was strong and adverse, male passengers were allowed to pull, without extra charge, though naturally they would give a trifle to this or that member of the professional crew.

Denry’s arrangement with the photographer was so simple that a child could have grasped it.  The photographer paid him sixpence on every photograph sold.  This was Denry’s only connection with the photographer.  The sixpences totalled over a dozen pounds a week.  Regardless of cost, Denry reprinted his article from the Staffordshire Signal descriptive of the night of the wreck, with a photograph of the lifeboat and its crew, and presented a copy to every client of his photographic department.

V

Llandudno was next titillated by the mysterious “Chocolate Remedy,” which made its first appearance in a small boat that plied off Robinson Crusoe’s strip of beach.  Not infrequently passengers in the lifeboat were inconvenienced by displeasing and even distressing sensations, as Denry had once been inconvenienced.  He felt deeply for them.  The Chocolate Remedy was designed to alleviate the symptoms while captivating the palate.  It was one of the most agreeable remedies that the wit of man ever invented.  It tasted like chocolate and yet there was an astringent flavour of lemon in it—­a flavour that flattered the stomach into a good opinion of itself, and seemed to say, “All’s right with the world.”  The stuff was retailed in sixpenny packets, and you were advised to eat only a very little of it at a time, and not to masticate, but merely to permit melting.  Then the Chocolate Remedy came to be sold on the lifeboat itself, and you were informed that if you “took” it before starting on the wave, no wave could disarrange you.  And, indeed, many persons who followed this advice suffered no distress, and were proud accordingly, and duly informed the world.  Then the Chocolate Remedy began to be sold everywhere.  Young people bought it because they enjoyed it, and perfectly ignored the advice against over-indulgence and against mastication.  The Chocolate Remedy penetrated like the refrain of a popular song to other seaside places.  It was on sale from Morecambe to Barmouth, and at all the