BISCUIT LEARNS TO SWIM
Biscuit Westfall's mother was a prudent woman; she had laid down the law
that Biscuit could not go in swimming until after he had learned to
swim. But when Biscuit tried to explain this to his friends, he
succeeded only in raising a shout of tantalizing laughter. And although
Biscuit knew that it was wicked to allow his angry passions to arise, he
seemed to be unable to control them. To stoop to the inelegant, the
ridicule "got his goat."
"You ack like a lot of boneheads!" he burst out finally. "What's the
matter of you, anyway?"
No words were said in reply, but the tantalizing laughter increased in
volume.
"Go on, laugh!" he cried angrily. "And when you get through, laugh some
more. What do _I_ care?"
Another outburst was the only response.
"What do I care how much you fools laugh?" he sneered, when once more he
could make himself heard.
At this his tormenters began to roll about on the grass apparently quite
helpless, and Biscuit, thoroughly disgusted, started for home.
"Hey, Biscuit!" Sube called after him teasingly. "Don't go home mad!
Come on down 'in'; and we'll teach you how to swim on the way down!"
But Biscuit did not so much as glance back.
"Learnin' to swim 'fore he could go in the water!" howled Gizzard
derisively.
"That'd be like learnin' to eat without grub," suggested Sube as the
party moved off in the direction of the swimming-hole.
When Biscuit walked into the house a few minutes afterwards, he came
upon his mother in conversation with a tall young man, who, had he lived
up to his teeth, would have been prominent.
"Yes, madam," the caller was saying, "we have added a number of new
courses to our curriculum and are now in a position to offer to the
world, I might say, universal knowledge. We now cover, I might say, the
entire field of human endeavor.
"Take for example the ordinary day of life. It begins the instant one is
out of bed in the morning. First, take our morning exercises. They come
in our excellent course in _Physical Culture and Muscle-building_, with
full directions how to increase your weight a pound a day"--he glanced
at Mrs. Westfall and observing her ample figure, added--"also, I might
say, how to reduce your weight to any desired figure.
"Next in order would come our course in _The Bath; How to Give or Take
One_. After that would come our fashionable course, _Dress; What to Wear
and When_. Follow this with our complete course in _Domestic Science and
Home Economy_, which, I might say, contains a menu for three meals a day
for three hundred and sixty-five days, or a full year. When the
breakfast is prepared and on the table, our course in _Etiquette and
Table Manners, the Science of Good Form_. This teaches one what to do
when at the table; how to eat rare and unusual food; which fork to use;
disposing of the discard; what to say, and many other difficult
questions that are wont to arise at the table.
"Then comes the broad field of the day's work. Our courses cover, I
might say, every known profession or employment from A to et cetera;
from _Accounting to Zebra Raising_. For the evening a large number of
courses will be found available. _Billiards, How to Become a Cue
Expert_; _Bowling_, _Boxing_; _How to Train for the Ring_; _Dancing,
Tango Taught in Ten Lessons_--"
Mrs. Westfall began to show signs of distress, and the young man
instantly changed his method of attack.
"Madam," he said suddenly, "what is your hobby? What are you most
interested in?"
"Why--why missionary work, I think," she stammered.
"Ha! I have just the thing! _How to Become a Missionary, Home or
Foreign_. This is a most illuminating course, madam. Listen to some of
the chapter headings: How to Approach a Heathen, Outwitting the
Cannibals, Three Methods of Destroying Idols, How to Prove to a Savage
That he is Naked, Junk from Missionary Societies--What to Do With it,
101 Ways to Raise Missionary Funds, etc., etc."
"Or, we have a very fine course in _Philanthropy--the Science of
Giving_. This course contains a lecture by Carnegie, one by Hettie
Green, one by William Jennings Bryan, one by Jess Willard--no, that's
another course--"
"That's interesting; very interesting, but--"
"Then perhaps I could interest this manly little fellow in something.
The Inter-State Correspondence Schools make a specialty of the interests
of boys, I might say. Are you interested in athletics, my lad?
Baseball? Boxing? Broad-jumping? Football? Sailing? Swimming?--"
[Illustration]
Biscuit's interest was at once apparent.
"Plain and fancy swimming and diving, surfboarding, how to dodge the
breakers, how to cheat the undertow, rescue and resuscitation--can you
swim, my lad?"
"No, sir, but I wisht I could."
"We have a very fine course in swimming, madam. We positively guarantee
to teach swimming in ten lessons or money refunded. All the latest
strokes: overhand, trudgeon, crawl, shoulder-stroke--"
"No, not to-day," interrupted Mrs. Westfall. "It's too dangerous. I
don't want my boy going into the water."
"Aw, mama, let me learn to swim!" whined Biscuit. "I'm the only boy in
town that can't swim!"
"Karl! Be still! It's too dangerous!"
"Pardon me, madam, but it is no more dangerous than playing the piano!
By our up-to-date system the student is taught to swim without so much
as touching the tip of his finger to the water!"
"A lot of expensive apparatus, I suppose."
"No apparatus whatever! We teach it in the home! Only the smooth top of
a kitchen table is required. Individual instruction by mail. And bear in
mind that our iron-bound guarantee goes with every course. Money back if
not satisfactory."
"How much does it cost?" she asked weakly.
"A mere trifle, madam, when we consider that it may be the means of
saving this little fellow's life!"
He laid a blank on the table and produced a fountain pen.
"But the expense?" insisted Mrs. Westfall as she saw him filling out the
blank.
"Not enough for a person in your circumstances to consider-- Sign
there."
She took the pen and poised it uncertainly over the dotted line. "Before
I sign this I ought to know--"
"A mere trifle--sign there--an inconsequential nothing--on the dotted
line, please--two dollars--"
She signed her name.
"Two dollars a lesson, with our iron-bound guarantee. Thank you, madam!
Many thanks! Keep the duplicate for your own reference. And I am leaving
you a complete catalogue of our courses. You may be interested in
something else later on. And now I will wish you--"
And thus it happened that Biscuit Westfall learned to swim.
Undoubtedly the proudest moment of his whole life was the one when he
received his diploma from the Inter-State Correspondence School. To the
unprejudiced eye this diploma looked more like the document that is
drawn forth from the spy's boot in the war melodrama, than the sheepskin
of a scholastic institution. It was decorated with stars and garters,
wafers and lozenges; but to Biscuit's unsophisticated gaze it was quite
the most important document since the Declaration of Independence.
If Biscuit had worked hard, so had his mother. She had taken a peculiar
interest in demonstrating the truth of her oft-repeated assertion that
one may learn to swim before going into the water.
She replaced without complaint the oilcloth on the kitchen table which
had gone to pieces under Biscuit's efforts to master the scissors-kick.
She sewed on in silence the numerous buttons that came off. She darned
without comment the knees of many stockings that gave way before the
edge of the table. And she paid with unaccustomed cheerfulness the cost
of each lesson as it arrived. Whether Biscuit or his mother was prouder
of the diploma when it came, would have been hard to tell.
The swimming lessons remained a dead secret until the course was
completed and the diploma actually in the hands of the graduate. On one
or two occasions Biscuit had been unable to suppress the intelligence
that he knew something he wasn't going to tell, but as nobody had
pressed him for particulars, the news came as a distinct surprise. And
it was divulged on the same day that the diploma was received.
When the usual swim was proposed, instead of starting dolefully for home
as had been his wont, Biscuit slapped the proponent on the back and
cried:
"All right! I'm with you!"
"Huh?" asked Sube with a blank stare.
"Uh-huh, me! Why not?"
"Your mother gone away?"
"No, course she ain't!"
"Maybe you've learned to swim on dry land!" taunted Sube.
"I sure have!" replied Biscuit with a lofty swagger. "I can swim
better'n any you fellers. I can do the trudgeon and the crawl and the
scissors and--"
A howl of derision went up.
"Shut up a minute, you fellers!" shouted Sube. "I want to ask 'im
some'pm."
Sube was not familiar with the terms Biscuit had so carelessly torn off,
but he was none the less impressed. He had a strong suspicion that there
was something back of it all.
"Who showed you how?" he asked, concealing with an effort the real
extent of his interest.
"I took lessons!"
"Who of?"
"Oh, a perfessional."
"Yes, you did!"
"Well, I did, and I can prove it!"
"Yes, you can! How can you prove it?"
"I'll show you!" cried Biscuit as he started for home. "You wait right
here till I get back!"
"He won't be back," predicted Cottontop; "let's get a move on us."
"Aw, we might as well wait around a few minutes," said Sube. "There's
some'pm funny about this. He never acted like that before."
They had not long to wait before Biscuit was seen coming towards them on
a run. In his hand he carried what looked like a small club, but proved
on closer examination to be a mailing-tube. By means of a moistened
finger that left Bertillon imprints wherever it touched, Biscuit
extracted and unfurled before his skeptical companions the cherished
roll of vegetable sheepskin.
"There!" he declared proudly. "I guess that'll prove it!"
"Di-plo-mer--" pronounced Sube.
"Diplomer's right!" boasted the graduate. "This here's my diplomer in
plain and fancy swimmin' and divin'! It was rewarded to me by the
Inter-State Cor'spon'ence School of Chicago, Ill'noise."
Sube was impressed, deeply impressed; but he was not convinced. "It's a
diplomer all right," he admitted; "but can you _swim_?"
"Can I _swim_? _Can_ I? Say, you jus' watch me! Watch me!"
Biscuit gaily began to make swimming motions with his hands, as he
capered about.
"But I mean in the water!" insisted Sube.
"So do I!" shouted Biscuit jubilantly.
"You don't mean to say that you took lessons in the water!"
"Oh, no-o-o-o! Course not!"
"Then where'd you learn?"
"Right on top of the kitchen table! You see--"
"Never mind about that," interrupted Sube with obvious relief. "We'll go
right down to the swimmin'-hole and you can show us all your little
tricks."
"Wait till I take my diplomer home!"
"Better not," cautioned Sube. "You might need it when you get in the
water!"
"Is that so! Well, you jus' watch me!" shouted Biscuit as he started for
home with his precious possession. "_Watch_ me!"
As the boys passed the mill on the way to the swimming-hole, Gizzard,
the painter's son, doubtless with inherited instinct, spied on a window
sill by the loading platform a can of black paint and a brush, of which
Sube, the lawyer's son, likewise with inherited instinct, took immediate
possession so they wouldn't get knocked off on the ground, as he
explained to Gizzard.
Sube tarried on the bridge long enough to leave Biscuit's misshapen
initials on the white hand-rail, and then passed on to the pool, where
he found most of the boys ready for the plunge, having stripped off
their clothing as they walked.
Biscuit was in the throes of peeling off his undershirt, which had
come so far as to envelop his head, but refused to come farther. As he
struggled his bare white back arched invitingly before Sube's yearning
eyes. The temptation was too strong for Sube. He yielded. And with one
bold stroke of the brush he transformed the skin along Biscuit's spine
from the purest Caucasian to the shiniest Senegambian.
With an angry bleat Biscuit tore off the shirt and turned on his
complacent decorator. "You wipe that off'n me or I'll--!"
"Oh! Will you?--Well, all right. Turn around and I'll wipe it off." And
Sube calmly dipped his brush into the paint. "Turn around, Biscuit. Turn
your back to Uncle Sube!"
"Don't you put any more of that nasty stuff on me!" bellowed Biscuit.
"But, Biscuit," pleaded Sube in the soft voice of a painless dentist
about to extract a molar, "we've _got_ to 'nitiate you, ain't we? Now
ain't we, Biscuit?"
This conversation was designed to draw Biscuit's attention so that
Gizzard might deliver a rear attack, which he did with complete success.
For, an instant later Biscuit was extended face downward on the ground
and securely held by his little friends while Sube stood over him, brush
in hand, ready to complete his work of art.
"Watch me closely, ladies and gent'mun," Sube declaimed with solemnity,
"for I am about to confer on this can'idate the Order of the Golden
Fish. This name, ladies and gent'mun, is given to this can'idate on
account of his bein' a trick swimmer. He claims he can do the creep, and
the bludgeon, and the shears. In our future consuls he will be called
'The Pike,' ladies and gent'mun, note the name, 'The Pike!' I will now
give him the stripes that belong to him!"
He at once proceeded to do so.
Biscuit howled lustily, but quite ineffectually. The stripes were given
with extreme delicacy of handling, the body scheme following the pattern
of his Patron Fish, and the legs being finished with a neat corkscrew
design. When the rear exposure had been completed, the candidate was
flopped over and finished in front according to the same general idea.
After some discussion his face was done in a chaste checkerboard design
that was really quite effective.
The great master had just reached the ears when Cathead who was holding
one of the candidate's arms, relaxed his grip somewhat in order to make
a survey of the nearly finished masterpiece. In a flash Biscuit wrenched
loose the arm and struck the can of paint from Sube's hand, splashing
the contents over his captors as well as himself. In another flash he
was free and on his feet, and making good his escape.
Sube gave chase, wiping the paint from his face as he ran. The others
followed for a short distance, but were soon turned back by their
modesty.
At first Sube was actuated by motives of revenge. He was going to show
Biscuit that nobody could throw a can of paint in _his_ face with
impunity. But as Biscuit reached the highway and started for home the
episode assumed a different aspect. If Sube had put his thoughts in
words they would have sounded something like this:
"Why, he's startin' for home!--The crazy nut!--Hear 'im holler!--He's
scairt!--He's scairt to death!--He's scairt crazy!--He don't know what
he is doin'!--I got to catch 'im!--What if we'd meet somebody!--What if
I couldn't catch 'im!--If he should ever get to his mother!--"
The mere thought quickened Sube's pace. But at the same moment something
quickened Biscuit's pace and turned on a little more noise. An
automobile occupied by four young ladies came in sight. As it approached
it drew out to the side of the road and stopped to watch the progress of
the chase. Then it turned around and followed along like an observation
train.
Pedestrians stepped aside and looked on in amazement at the strange
sight, but fortunately not many were abroad.
As Biscuit came abreast of the Presbyterian Church he hesitated; and
hearing his pursuer thundering along behind him, turned in, rushed up
the steps, threw open the door and disappeared within, slamming the door
behind him.
Sube noted this maneuver with a gasp of relief. "Now I've got 'im
cornered!" he muttered approvingly as he leaped up the steps and burst
into the church.