I _was_ Seymour, and as an instructor and guide of youth I felt that
I ought to be thoroughly ashamed of myself for flocking with the
dissipated crowd I had just left. Acting upon this elevating thought, I
braced up considerably, assumed an air of virtue, and not knowing
exactly what to do next, joined a throng of people who were jostling one
another in their efforts to get on a steamboat. A sail, I fancied, would
do me no end of good, and as the ticket seller assured me with a smile
that the boat was perfectly safe and would return in a few hours, I went
aboard with the rest of the fools, children, and old folks. This I
accomplished after barely escaping a plunge into the river from what
struck me as being an exceedingly narrow gang-plank.
"The band struck up one of Sousa's lively marches, a hoarse whistle
sounded, the boat trembled all over, and we were off. As the _Charles
Auchester_ glided out into the stream, two young women with camp stools
in their hands pushed through the crowd at the entrance to the hurricane
deck--an elevation I had succeeded in attaining--and took their seats
near a life-raft upon which I reclined, Cleopatra-like.
"'Oh, aren't these excursions perfectly lovely, Ruby?' said the taller
of the pair, taking off her hat and dropping it in her lap.
"'Yes, and so cheap.
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