The Tale of the Shipwrecked Parent
father. Hawser's ashore and gangplank out. Come on, if you please."
A sprightly old man darted into view and ran down the gangplank. He was so gaunt that his clothes fairly flopped about his withered frame. His weather-browned face resembled a shriveled pippin and his hawk like nose swooped down to meet his concave chin.
"All taut, my boy," he piped in a voice like the wind singing through a ship's rigging. "If I hadn't been along that lubber on the poop 'ud have smashed us into smithereens, hey, boy?"
Mr. Wilkins grasped his fellow-voyager by the arm and led him indoors. I met them in the hall and Wilkins explained with some embarrassment:
"This is my aged parent, sir. I ran afoul of him by sheer accident, and found he was even more set in his ways than when I last clapped eyes on him. The only way I could fetch him up from the docks was to let him play he was cruisin' ashore. I hadn't seen the
