"Well, thank goodness, we are through, and I can get out for a little
air once more."
Such was the remark made by Boyton when the preceding chapter, which
completed the history of his adventures, was finished.
He little relished the confinement to which he had been subjected, while
getting into shape such a mass of notes and memoranda. Several times
he was on the point of abandoning the work altogether.
"One thing that gratifies me," he added: "I'll never have to talk about
myself or my voyages again. The book tells the story."
Though before the public so many years, Paul Boyton is still in the
prime of life. It is possible that he will not attempt any
dangerous voyages again; still the ruling passion is strong. He may
frequently be seen poring over maps and charts of distant rivers and
often discusses the probability of adventure on them.
During the summer he is almost daily in the water with his company of
aquatic experts.
In the winter season, he devotes the greater part of his time to
inventing and perfecting new devices in the way of water amusements.
In the large basement of his home he has fitted up one of the most
curious work-shops in the world. Water-shoes, sails, marine
bicycles, torpedo and submarine boats, paddles, etc., lie around in
bewildering confusion to a person unaccustomed to aquatic traps. But
Boyton knows where each belongs, and insists on its being kept there,
his early sailor training making him a martinet of order.
He has never lost his old love of animals. Adjoining the work-shop, is a
large tank for the accommodation of his water pets. This is also a
favorite spot for his three little boys who often take a plunge.
Sometimes the first mate of the home is compelled to make a clearance,
when the pets become numerous and the youngsters bathe too frequent.
It may be well to state in these closing remarks that a cause of
considerable business annoyance is the persistence with which many
people spell his name, Boy-n-ton instead of Boyton. This mistake happens
only in America.
One thing Boyton seriously regrets, is his inability to remember names
and faces. Consequently he is spoken to every day by those who have met
him in various parts of the world, and it is a source of much
embarrassment that he cannot always call their names as readily as they
remember him, for being of a social disposition he is always glad to
meet his acquaintances.
While keeping himself pretty busy in his shop over his charts during the
winter he still finds time to make runs in his rubber dress on Lake
Michigan, near his home, "Just to keep his hand in," he says.
He also goes on frequent hunting excursions.
Like most men who have led a roving life, he is fond of his home and a
pleasant smile always lights his face when his little children are
climbing over him asking for a story.