"But really, I cawn't," says he. "I n-never sing, y'know." Say, that gave me the backache. "See here, Woodie," says I, lookin' as wicked as I knew how, "you sing or there'll be trouble! Hit 'er up, now!" That fetched him. He opened his face like he'd swallowed something bitter, made one or two false starts, and strikes up "God save the King." I didn't know the words to that, so I makes a stab at "Everybody Works but Father," and Sadie tackles somethin' else. For a trio that was the limit. The kids hadn't seemed to mind the thunder and lightnin' a whole lot, but when that three-cornered symphony of ours cut loose they begins to look wild. Some of 'em was diggin' their fists into their eyes and preparin' to leak brine, when all of a sudden Woodie gets into his stride and lets go of three or four notes that sounded as if they might belong together. That seemed to cheer those youngsters up a lot. One or two pipes up, kind of scared and trembly, but hangin' onto the tune, and the next thing we knew they was all at it, givin' us "My Country 'Tis of Thee" in as fine shape as you'd want to hear. We quit then, and listened. They followed up with a couple of good old hymns and, if I hadn't been afloat from my shoes up, I might have enjoyed the program. It was a good exhibition of nerve, too. Most kids of that size would have gone up in the air and howled blue murder. But they didn't even show white around the gills. Inside of ten minutes it was all over. The shower had moved off up into Connecticut, where maybe it was wanted worse, and we got our heads together to map out the next act. Sadie had the say. She was for takin' the kids over to the swell yacht club there, and waitin' until the nurses or some one else came to take 'em off our hands. That suited me; but when it came to gettin' Captain Sir Hunter to march up front and set the pace, he made a strong kick. "Oh, by Jove, now!" says he, "I couldn't think of it. Why, I've been a guest here, y'know, and I might meet some of the fellows." "What luck!" says Sadie. "That'll be lovely if you do." "You come along, Woodie," says I. "We've got our orders." He might have been a stiff-lookin' Englishman before, but he was limp enough now. He looked like a linen collar that had been through the wash and hadn't reached the starch tub. His coat-tails was still drippin' water, and when he walked it sounded like some one was moppin' up a marble floor. "Only fancy what they'll think!" he kept sayin' to himself as we got under way. "They'll take you for an anti-race-suicide club," says I; "so brace up." We hadn't more'n struck the club-house porch, and the steward had rushed out to drive us away, when Sadie gives another one of them squeals that means she's sighted something good. "Oh, there's the Dixie Girl!" says she. "You must have 'em bad," says I. "I don't see any girl."