The pull, unfortunately, releases heavy block, which, falling on Bigheart's head, seems to quite annoy him for the minute. We plunge into Solent, and then bear away for West Channel. Skipper remarks that we shall make a long "retch" of it (_absit omen_). He then adds that we could "bring up"--why these unpleasantly suggestive nautical expressions?--off Yarmouth. Not wishing to appear ignorant, I ask Bigheart, "Why not make a course S.S. by E.?" He replies, "Because it would take us ashore into the R. V. Yacht Club garden," and I retire somewhat abashed. Out in West Channel we get into what skipper calls "a bit of a bobble." Don't think I care quite so much for yachting in "bobbles." Bigheart shows me all the varied beauties of the coast, but now they fail to interest me. He says, "I say, we'll keep sailing until quite late this evening, eh? That'll be jolly!" Reply, "Yes, that'll be jolly," but somehow my voice lacks heartiness. An hour later I was lying down--I felt tired--when Bigheart came up, and with a ring of joy in his manly tones exclaimed, "I tell you what, old man; we'll carry right on, now, through the night. We're not in a hurry, so we'll get as much sailing as we can." ... Then, with my last ounce of failing strength, I sat up and denounced him as an assassin. After passing a night indescribable, lying on the shelf--I mean berth--I was put ashore at Portland next morning. Should like to have procured dear old Bigheart a government appointment there for seven years, as a due reward for what he had been making me suffer. * * * * * SUITABLE SONG FOR BOATING MEN.--The last _rows_ of summer. * * * * * [Illustration: SAD RESULTS OF PERSISTENT BRIDGE PLAYING AT SEA _Owner._ "I'll 'eave it to you, partner!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _Mr. Dibbles_ (_at Balham_). "Ah, the old Channel Tunnel scheme knocked on the head at last! Good job too! Mad-headed project--beastly unpatriotic too!"] [Illustration: _Mr. Dibbles_ (_en route for Paris. Sea choppy_.) "Channel Tunnel not a bad idea. Entire journey to Paris by train. Grand scheme! English people backward in these kind of things. Steward!" [_Goes below._ ] * * * * * MY YOT (_A Confidential Carol, by a Cockney Owner, who inwardly feels that he is not exactly "in it," after all_) What makes me deem I'm of Viking blood (Though a wee bit queer when the pace grows hot), A briny slip of the British brood? My Yot! What makes me rig me in curious guise? Like a kind of a sort of--I don't know what, And talk sea-slang, to the world's surprise? My Yot! What makes me settle my innermost soul On winning a purposeless silver pot, And walk with a (very much) nautical roll? My Yot!