This sudden and inconsiderate departure was a severe blow to Mr. Cooke’ who was so constituted that he cared but little about anything until there was danger of not getting it.  My client had planned a trip to Bear Island for the following Tuesday, which was to last a week, the party to bring tents with them and rough it, with the Maria as headquarters.  It was out of the question to send to Far Harbor for another skipper, if, indeed, one could be found at that late period.  And as luck would have it, six of Mr. Cooke’s ten guests had left but a day or so since, and among them had been the only yacht-owner.  None of the four that remained could do more than haul aft and belay a sheet.  But the Celebrity, who chanced along as Mr. Cooke was ruefully gazing at the graceful lines of the Maria from the wharf and cursing the fate that kept him ashore with a stiff wind blowing, proposed a way out of the difficulty.  He, the Celebrity, would gladly sail the Maria over to Bear Island provided another man could be found to relieve him occasionally at the wheel, and the like.  He had noticed that Farrar was a capable hand in a boat, and suggested that he be sent for.

This suggestion Mr. Cooke thought so well of that he hurried over to Asquith to consult Farrar at once, and incidentally to consult me.  We can hardly be blamed for receiving his overtures with a moderate enthusiasm.  In fact, we were of one mind not to go when the subject was first broached.  But my client had a persuasive way about him that was irresistible, and the mere mention of the favors he had conferred upon both of us at different periods of our lives was sufficient.  We consented.

Thus it came to pass that Tuesday morning found the party assembled on the wharf at Mohair, the Four and the Celebrity, as well as Mr. Cooke, having produced yachting suits from their inexhaustible wardrobes.  Mr. Trevor and his daughter, Mrs. Cooke and Miss Thorn, and Farrar and myself completed the party.  We were to adhere strictly to primeval principles:  the ladies were not permitted a maid, while the Celebrity was forced to leave his manservant, and Mr. Cooke his chef.  I had, however, thrust into my pocket the Minneapolis papers, which had been handed me by the clerk on their arrival at the inn, which happened just as I was leaving.  ‘Quod bene notandum!’

Thereby hangs a tale!

For the northern lakes the day was rather dead:  a little wind lay in the southeast, scarcely enough to break the water, with the sky an intense blue.  But the Maria was hardly cast and under way before it became painfully apparent that the Celebrity was much better fitted to lead a cotillon than to sail a boat.  He gave his orders, nevertheless, in a firm, seamanlike fashion, though with no great pertinence, and thus managed to establish the confidence of Mr. Cooke.  Farrar, after setting things to rights, joined Mrs. Cooke and me over the cabin.

“How about hoisting the spinnaker, mate?” the Celebrity shouted after him.