File:Outing (1885) (14774405204).jpg

Identifier: outing58newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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There is the river whirling by andyour imagination pulling you after it;a wide stretch of bright green turf to thebank, and across it Jim is dragging theprovisions toward the Old Mans fleetof hollowed toothpicks. These only waitto be untied to speed away on the cur-rent. And all the while that smell ofgood home cooking! Cornbread, fried country chicken, wa-termelon — some one knew a thing ortwo about the city mans tastes. Itwouldnt be fair to the river to talkabout that dinner any more. . . . So—across the turf that puts springs in yourheels. Jims in the boat. Youre inyourself. The small chain that servesfor a hawser clinks musically, dramati-cally, on the floor. Jim dips his paddleand makes a little whirlpool of waterwith it. Were off! Jim quits pad-dling after the third stroke. In thisthere is evidence that already we areinto the swing of the running methods,for the river, not the boatman, does thework. The current has the splinter now fora plaything. It takes joy in the posses-
Text Appearing After Image:
THE WHOLE CARGO IS CAREFULLY STOWED IN A WAY THAT PRESERVES THE BALANCE sion, gurgling, slapping the flat keel,once whirling us toward a tree thathangs so low over the water that it al-most brushes off the crew. Where theboat floats so swiftly, curiosity can travelno farther in advance than the nextbend; as in a speeding motor car, thetourist, until he is accustomed to thepace, takes more interest in the road justahead than in any graceful silhouette onthe skyline. The boat scoots under abridge, the last one to be seen for fivedays. (I have traveled in one Ozarkdistrict where there was only one bridgein the county and that a wobbly, home- made suspension foot-bridge, which youwerent supposed to use without per-mission of the owner.) The town ofGalena whisks by. Leave it with fewregrets and no description. Anotherwriggle or two of the current and townsare just a memory. We glided past a few new bungalows,in one of which a phonograph was blar-ing through a horn large enough for aconcert

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