on the account I don't believe anybody ever stayed on the ocean that long. With the Kid, how the so ever, it was all different. The boy had sailed a mean yacht and the etc when his masculine parent had large quantities of sugar, and he was as much at home in the cradle of the deep as a barnacle. He dragged me out of the cabin where I had crawled to die in peace and made me gallop around the deck, till, much to my dumfounded astonishment, I was able to listen to the dinner bugle without goin' into convulsions as heretofore.
About four days after the ship has been caperin' wildly hithers and you on the ocean, and I have decided they is more heroes in the navy than any other place in the wide, wide world, a ball is had on the heels of supper. The Kid drags out his "Curse you, Jack Dalton!" scenery, wraps it around his manly form, and won't have it no other way but that I climb into the one he made me stake myself to and join the merry mob on the promenade deck. As a dancer, I'm a fine box-fight manager! I don't know the difference between a bar of music and a bar of soap, provided they is any, and after I have sit out a couple of Onesteps with Janes which would be safe anywheres and which talked about their varied operations and how many times they had been across, I escaped to the smokin' room on the account of preferrin' the male liars to the female pests.
But Kid Roberts had a field day with the ladies as per usual. This big blond in evenin' clothes was a sight which would of made Apollo take arsenic, and, Sweet Mamma, how the women did set sail for
