Sailing the Sea with Knobs On.

But, on second thoughts, you are glad to be at sea because there is a terrific, earthquake going on ashore. The hills are skipping about like spring lambs and the wharves are bobbing up and down like father when he does the washing.

“Nobby day for sailing,” says the skipper.

You feel tempted to reply that it is a nobby day for cricket or flying or even for a crown-and-anchor tournament, but that for yachting you consider that there are far too many knobs on it. “I'm afraid she missed stays,” apologises the skipper when a broadside sluices you fore and aft. You had already noticed that she missed something and are about to remark that a bit of tight-lacing wouldn't do her any harm when she stands on her tail; sea and sky go into partnership and liquidation, and Cook Strait falls aboard.

When you come to, you are outstretched on a settee, and the crew are laying out a lunch of beer and sausages on your chest.

All appears to be calm and through the porthole you spy the most beautiful sight you have ever seen in your life—about thirty-six square inches of good hard solid immovable land.

“One more day of this and you'll never notice it,” encourages the skipper.” “One more day like this and I'll never notice anything,” replies you.