She was sitting aft, and as we moved to exchange seats, we awkwardly attempted to pass each other on the same side of the boat thus throwing too much weight on the port gunwale, and destroying the equilibrium of the boat and all the crew. Just then, too, a fine fresh, unusually large wave came rolling along. The lady caught at the side of the boat as she lost her balance, but missed it, and pitched out! The boat dipped; the wave swept over, nearly filling it with the pure waters of the lake; and a wild scream of terror from the other lady lent interest to the scene. I seized the unfortunate one in time, dragged her into the boat and called quickly to the gentleman to go to bailing, and never mind the price of hats. He wore a fine silk castor that held a gallon or so, and it was refreshing to see the way he began bailing with it. I hastily turned the head of the boat toward the waves, and we rose with the next one. Managing to keep her straight with one oar, I took my “beaver” in the other hand, and went to bailing for dear life. Meantime, the two ladies were trembling with terror, one of them coughing, sneezing and strangling, too—and uttering brief impromptu prayers, such as “Lord, save us!” and the like. I assured them there was not the slightest danger—that the water was not deep there anyhow, that I could reach the bottom with an ordinary poker—I meant by jumping out and diving with it, though—and I succeeded in restoring their nerves to something like composure. As we were all soaking wet, from top to toe—and especially the young lady who had taken an involuntary dive into the deep-green waters—we began to steer for the “Garden City:” which we reached with thankful hearts, wet clothes and hats utterly ruined. As the others stepped out of the boat before me, I observed that, with the exception of my person, it was entirely empty, and said: “Where in the deuce is my crutch?” “Isn’t it in the boat?” responded the young gentleman, who stood on the shore. I will never forget the picture he presented, as he stood there in the moonlight. His ruined hat was on his head, and it had lost all its stiffening, the nap was no longer sleek, smooth and shiny, but was rumpled and crooked, and stuck out in all directions; while the now pliable crown was crushed down till it rested on his cranium, like a wet dishcloth laid on the top of his head, and looked as though it had been beaten down by a terrific hail-storm. The dull, lifeless, lead-like way in which his garments hung about him may be imagined. “Your crutch?” said he. “Can it be possible that it fell out when the boat tipped?” “Blazes!” I exclaimed. “How will I get home?” I might have hopped all the way—four squares—but that novel mode of locomotion would have attracted public attention and placed me in an undignified light. “Here it is,” said one of the girls, laughing. “I took it out when I left the boat.” And, much to my relief and delight, she handed it to me.