Read Ebook: Supplement to Punch 16th December 1914 The Unspeakable Turk by Various

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Ebook has 191 lines and 13249 words, and 4 pages

Jamie quickly turned over, and backed out of his retreat, to be at once soaked through by the driving rain.

Then Jamie rushed to the stern, thinking he might be able to steer the yacht in such a way that she would speedily be blown ashore; but with a thrill of terror he discovered that there was no tiller on board, nor even an oar or boat-hook to take its place, and thus, the rudder was rendered practically useless. The next instant a zigzag flame lit up the darkened heavens with its awful light, followed by a succession of thunder-claps, which sent Jamie back under the deck with a heart that nearly failed him as he realized how helpless he was.

With wide-open, anxious eyes Jamie gazed at the latter as the schooner passed safely through, wondering in a dazed sort of way if the keeper would see him before he closed the draw.

"But how can I be sure of not missing it, even if it is open?"

The man had evidently seen him, for the draw remained wide open, but already the course of the boat was tending in such a way that a collision with the bridge appeared to be almost inevitable. Jamie sprang to the stern, and made a desperate effort to turn the rudder-post with his hands, but all in vain.

Yet would the shock really be great enough to harm him? Jamie wondered; and for an instant or two he thought that the bridge might be the means of saving him from a worse fate, for perhaps the boat would remain unhurt, and he could manage to clamber up by the spiles. Then he noticed how rapidly he was passing each landmark on shore, and felt the full force of the gale as he turned to face it.

But he was almost there now, and Jamie closed his eyes for an instant, as he fell to wondering vaguely whether the bridge-keeper would ever find him, or if he would be swept out to sea with the wreck. Then there came a sudden shock, which threw him from his feet, and caused him to put up his hands as if to ward off the mast, which he felt must now crash down upon him.

"An' am dat you or yer ghost, Mas'r Jamie?" exclaimed the colored coachman, as they got into the carriage at the station. "There's yer pore ma at home lookin' up an' down de ribber as white as yerself, an' Miss Marian, she am dat scared 'bout yer dat--"

"But where was she all the time?" eagerly interrupted the boy, as his father took the reins from Pomp, and started the horses at their liveliest pace. "Why didn't she or somebody come out after me?"

THE FINE ART OF COOKING.

BY AUNT MARJORIE PRECEPT.

A fine art, like painting, music, embroidery or sculpture? Yes, my dears, and an art which involves as much industry, skill, and taste as any of the others. Good cooking is an important element in home life and happiness. Health depends upon it, for nobody can be well and strong who suffers from indigestion, and nothing causes indigestion sooner than ill-cooked food.

Many people think that while a girl must go to school for years to acquire a knowledge of her own and foreign languages, and must have masters for this and that accomplishment, she may be safely left to pick up an acquaintance with cooking after she has a household of her own. This is a great mistake, as hundreds of ladies who remember the trouble they have had through want of experience can tell you. I myself once had a dreadful time trying to prepare a dinner, in the absence of my faithful Bridget, and I would have given up Latin, Greek, and French that day to have known when the potatoes were done, and to have discovered how to get the pease and beans out of the water in which they were floating.

To be a good cook, girls, one needs a light, firm hand, an accurate eye, and a patient temper. One needs, too, a few rules and a trustworthy receipt-book. We have all seen the easy way in which a good cook makes a cake. She tosses three or four things together, gives a flirt of the spice box, and a feathery touch or two to her foamy eggs, pops the pan into the oven, and presto! there appears the perfect loaf. And if you ask her why and how she did this or the other part of her work, she will very likely smile and say, "Oh, I used my judgment."

This judgment is the quality which no novice in cooking can expect to possess, just as no novice on the piano can perform the "Moonlight Sonata" after learning two or three scales, and no beginner with the pencil can paint such sea-pieces as those of De Haas.

Have your receipt-books, at least until you know certain rules by heart, and minutely follow their directions. Still, as no receipt-book can tell you just when bread is light or precisely when meat is done, you must watch whatever you are cooking very carefully, and you will gradually acquire a sort of sense which will not fail you.

One of the things you must learn if you wish to cook successfully is the management of your fire. A range is a splendid servant if under proper control; but unless you understand dampers and draughts, you will probably have no end of trouble with your ovens. The skillful cook keeps her fire raked clear of ashes from beneath. She never heaps coals up so high that they over-brim the fire-chamber and rattle against the lids, and she does not let her heat go up the chimney when it ought to be baking her biscuits.

Try your oven with the thermometer. Miss Juliet Corson says that a good temperature for baking meat is from 320? to 400? Fahr. Beef and mutton require about twenty minutes to the pound, and you may tell when they are done, and how much, by pressing the surface with the finger. Rare or little-cooked meat will spring back from the touch. There will be little resistance if it is quite well done, and none at all if it is baked thoroughly.

In baking bread, which is, I think, the real test of a cook's merits, a great deal depends on the kneading. You can not knead bread too long or too often, and the more it is kneaded, by which I mean rolled over and pounded with the clinched fist, the finer and closer-grained it will be.

If you have never made bread, ask mamma to let you try, and then, if once or twice she will stand by, and show you how to sift the flour, how to heap the right quantity into a deep pan, and make a hollow in the middle, into which you shall pour your lukewarm water, your yeast, your wee bit of sugar, and your spoonful of salt, following this by enough tepid water to make a soft dough, you will not require her instructions often. The art of making bread once learned is never forgotten. And how proud papa will be the first time he eats a slice of his daughter's home-made bread!

Whatever else you omit, girls, do not omit to learn to prepare food properly; for

"You may live without friends, you may live without books, But civilized man can not live without cooks."

RACKETS.

BY B. HARDWICK.

Did you ever play rackets? If not, come and have a game with me. But first we must understand the court and the implements.

Here we have a picture of the racket-court on the corner of Twenty-sixth Street and Sixth Avenue, New York city. The figures are those of the two markers, whose business it is to keep the score. The court is eighty feet long by forty feet wide. The front wall is thirty feet high, and the back twelve. Over this wall there are galleries for the spectators. These you can not see in the picture, as they form the point of sight. The floor of the court is divided by a line from side to side, and where this line meets the side walls there are quarter-circles marked. These are called the service courts; there is also another line dividing the nearer half of the court. The spaces on either side of this line are called the right and left courts. The front wall to the height of twenty-six inches is covered by a wooden board. And seven feet from the floor there runs a line, over which every served ball must be struck. The walls and sides of the court are of brick and plaster, hard and smooth.

The rackets, or bats, have handles about two feet long, and their frames are strung with catgut. They are much smaller than tennis bats. The balls are of white leather, very hard, and tightly sewn, and little more than an inch in diameter. The game is played by either two or four persons. If by four, two play on a side. Let us have a single-handed game, you and I, so that we may understand it more easily. I will begin.

I go to the right-hand service court, and throwing up the ball, I strike it with the racket so that it bounds back into the left-hand court, in which you stand ready to receive it. If I fail to strike over the line, or play the ball so that it does not bound back into the left court, it is a fault. Two faults would put me out. But now, see, I give my racket a sweep, cutting the ball rather than striking it. The effect of this is that when the ball strikes the wall it does not rise, but returns at a low angle. Now it has bounded, and you strike it back, before its second bound, on to the front wall. After the service you are not bound to strike any higher than the twenty-six inches of wood. If you strike the wood, the ace counts to me, or if you fail to return the ball on to the front wall, it counts to me, and I score one. Then I go over to the other service court, and serve again, so that the ball returns into the right-hand court, and so on, until one of us fails. If you fail to return the ball properly, it counts another ace to me; but if I fail, it does not count one to you, but simply puts me out, and you go in and serve. Only the server can add to his score. The one who first scores fifteen aces, or points, wins the game.

This seems very easy, does it not? But if you take the racket you will find it is not so easy as it looks. There are several tricks in the game, the object of which is to make your opponent's return difficult if not impossible. Thus, sometimes a player will volley a ball--that is, strike it before it has bounded--and, playing it downward just a few inches above the wood, it will bound downward, and touch the floor where it can not be reached, or a player will strike very low, so as to produce the same effect. I should have mentioned that you are not bound to strike the front wall first. You may play off the side walls, and sometimes by this play make it very difficult indeed for your adversary to return the ball. Thus, if you play on to the side wall at an angle of anything like forty-five degrees, the ball will take a similar angle off the front and side walls, and never come down to the end of the court where the players stand at all.

There is another point to be learned--the science of twist. If you strike the ball very low, cutting it with the racket held with the face slanting, it will give a twisting movement to the ball, so that the return will not come off at the usual angle, but in a very unexpected manner. This makes it very difficult for the other player to know where to place himself to receive the stroke. The French, who are great racket-players, have a saying, "La balle cherche le bon joueur" . In point of fact, the really good player, the moment a ball is struck, places himself so that the ball comes to him. Nothing marks more clearly the difference between good and bad players than ability in this respect.

When four players play together, they play, as I have said, two on a side. Each side goes in alternately. One player on one side serves until he is put out, and then his partner serves until he is put out. Then the other side goes in, and so on. The non-strikers are bound to get out of the way. If they in any way embarrass a striker, it is called a "let," and counts for nothing.

The Spring Handicap Championship games were lately held at the Racket Club. There were thirty-eight entries, divided into first and second class, with a prize for each class. In order to make the chances of the good and the bad players as nearly equal as possible, the good ones gave odds to the bad ones. Thus Mr. Allen, who is one of the best players in the club, was put down as "scratch," that is, he received no odds. Mr. Leavitt and another gentleman were in the same position. After these, all the other players received odds--one or more aces, for instance, or an "extra hand."

There is scarcely any game in which difference of skill is so apparent as in rackets. Luck or chance has but little to do with it. The great art is, the moment a ball is struck on to the front wall, to judge exactly where it will return, and to get in that particular spot.

Quickness in getting over the court is another great point. Short, quick steps are better than a run, as they are more easily checked. With good players in the court, the game is almost as exciting to witness as to play. The constant movement, the volleys, the rallies, the drops, twists, and cuts, succeeding one another rapidly, require all the observer's attention. For affording the greatest amount of exercise in the shortest time there is no game like rackets.

THE TALKING LEAVES.

Begun in No. 101, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

An Indian Story.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

During the time spent by Murray with Rita in the lodge, Steve Harrison found his position a little awkward. The chiefs had by far too much dignity to consult with so young a brave, especially as he had not even one of the "Talking Leaves" to listen to. He knew that not only Dolores and Ni-ha-be, but half a dozen other squaws, old and young, were staring at him, and he could not understand a word of the low-voiced remarks they made. He was very glad, therefore, when his friend once more appeared, and he saw by the light on his face that he had no unpleasant news to bring.

"What find?" asked Many Bears. "Send Warning and Rita hear anything?"

"Hear a little. Send Warning will take the Leaves to his own lodge and hear more."

"What say now? Hear about big talk with blue-coat pale-faces?"

"Tell you what I think."

"The chief is listening."

"Break up village. Move west right away. More news come soon. Hear about treaty when you see the lodges of your own people. No time to lose."

That advice agreed so exactly with the notions of Many Bears that he was ready to accept it at once. He turned to his two councillors triumphantly.

"What did I tell you? It is wisdom. We will go. Tell the braves to get ready. Tell all the squaws to pack up. Send on hunting braves. Good many. Kill plenty meat."

There was no opposition.

The only objection that could reasonably be raised was that so sudden a departure gave no opportunity for a grand celebration of their victory over the Lipans. They could attend to that, however, some other time.

"Come, Steve," said Murray. "We want an hour by ourselves."

They were quickly inside their own lodge, and were sure there were no listeners.

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