<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></SPAN>CHAPTER VII</h2>
<h3>THE INTERNATIONAL MARINE AND ZOO FLOTATION COMPANY</h3>
<p>I have never yet been quite able to make up my mind with any degree of
definiteness in regard to the sanity of my son Noah. In many respects
he is a fine fellow. His moral character is beyond reproach, and I
have never caught him in any kind of a wilful deception such as many
parents bewail in their offspring, and I know that he has no bad
habits. He has no liking for cigarette smoking, and he keeps good
company and good hours. His sons Shem, Ham and Japhet, are great
favorites with all of us, and as far as mere respectability goes there
is no family<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></SPAN></span> in the land that stands higher than his, but the
complete obsession of his mind by this International Marine and Zoo
Flotation Company of his is entirely beyond my comprehension, and his
attempts to explain it to me are futile, because its utter
impracticability, and the reasons advanced for its use seem so absurd
that I lose my temper before he gets half way through the first page
of his prospectus. From his boyhood up he has been fond of the water,
and when the bath-tub was first invented we did not have to drive him
to it, as most parents have to do with most boys, but on the contrary
we had all we could do to keep him away from it. I don't think any one
in my household for five hundred years was able to take a bath on any
night of the week without first having to clear away from the tub the
evidence of Noah's interest in marine matters. Nothing in the world
seemed to de<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></SPAN></span>light his spirit more as a child than to fill the tub
full of water, turn on the shower at its fullest speed, and play what
he called flood in it, with a shingle or a chip, or if he could not
find either of these, with a floating leaf. Many a time I have found
him long after he was supposed to have gone to bed sitting on the
bath-room floor singing a roysterous nautical song like "Rocked in the
Cradle of the Deep," or "A Life On the Ocean Wave," while he pushed a
floating soap dish filled with ants, spiders and lady-bugs up and down
that overflowing tub; and later in his life, when more manly sports
would seem to be more to any one's tastes, while his playmates were
out in the open chasing the Discosaurus over the hills, or trapping
Pterodactyls in the bull-rushes, he would go off by himself into the
woods where he had erected what he called his ship-yard, and whittle
out gondolas, canoes, battle-<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></SPAN></span>ships, arks and other marine craft day
in and day out until one could hardly walk in the dark without
stubbing his toe on some kind of a boat. I recall once coming upon him
on the farther slopes of Mount Ararat, putting the finishing touches
to as graceful a cat-boat as any one ever saw—a thing that would have
excited the envy of mariners in all parts of the world, but in spite
of my admiration for his handicraft, it worried me more than I can say
when I thought of all the labor he had expended on such a work miles
away from any kind of a water course. It did not seem to square with
my ideas as to what constituted sense.</p>
<p>"It is very beautiful, my son," I observed, after inspecting the
vessel carefully for a few moments. "Her lines are perfect, and the
model indicates that she will prove a speedy proposition, but it seems
to me that you have left out one of<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></SPAN></span> the most important features of a
permanently successful sailing vessel."</p>
<p>Noah looked at me patronizingly, and shrugged his shoulders as much as
to inquire what on earth I knew about boat-building.</p>
<p>"If you refer either to the bowsprit or to the flying balloon-jib," he
replied coldly, and acting generally as if he were very much bored,
"you are entirely wrong. This isn't a sloop, or a catamaran, or a
caravel. Neither is it a government transport, an ocean gray-hound, or
a ram. It's just a cat-boat, nothing more."</p>
<p>"No," said I. "I refer to nothing of the sort. I don't know much about
boats, but I know enough to be aware without your telling me, that
this affair is not a battle-ship, tug, collier, brig, lugger, barge or
gravy-boat. Neither is it a dhow, gig or skiff. But that does not
affect the validity of my criticism that you<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></SPAN></span> have forgotten an
important factor in her successful use as a sailing craft."</p>
<p>"What is it?" he demanded, curtly.</p>
<p>"An ocean," said I. "How the dickens do you expect to sail a boat like
that off here in the woods, where there isn't enough water to float a
parlor-match?"</p>
<p>He laughed quietly as I advanced this objection, and for the first
time in his life gave evidence of the haunting idea that later took
complete possession of his mind.</p>
<p>"Time enough for that," said he. "There'll be more ocean around here
some day than you can keep off with a million umbrellas, and don't you
forget it."</p>
<p>Somehow or other his reply irritated me. The idea seemed so
preposterously absurd. How on earth he ever expected to get an ocean
out there, half way up the summit of our highest mountain, no sane
person could imagine, and I turned the vials of my wrathful satire
upon him.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"You ought to start a Ferry Company from the Desert of Sahara to the
top of Mount Ararat," I observed, as dryly as I knew how.</p>
<p>"The notion is not new," he replied instantly. "I have already given
the matter some thought, and it isn't impossible that the thing will
be done before I get through. There will be a demand for such a thing
all right some day, but whether it will be a permanent demand is the
question."</p>
<p>It may interest the public to know that it was at this period that I
invented a term that has since crept into the language as a permanent
figure of speech. Speaking to my wife on the subject of the day's
adventure that very evening, after I had expressed my determination to
apply for the appointment of a Commission De Lunatico Enquirendo on
Noah's behalf, she en<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></SPAN></span>deavored to quiet my anxiety on the score of his
good sense by saying:</p>
<p>"Don't worry, dear. He is very serious in this matter. He has always
had a great storm in his mind ever since he was a baby."</p>
<p>"I guess it's a brain-storm," I interjected contemptuously, for I
could not then, and I cannot now conceive of any kind of a shower that
will make the boy's habit of building caravels in the middle of
ten-acre lots, and submarines on fifteen-by-twenty fish ponds, and
schooner yachts on mill-dams only three feet deep at high tide a
reasonable bit of procedure.</p>
<p>Occasionally one of my neighbors would call upon me to remark somewhat
critically on this strange predilection of my son, and several of them
advised me to take the matter seriously in hand before it was too
late.</p>
<p>"If you lived on the seaboard, it would<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></SPAN></span> be a fine thing to have such
a son," they said, "but off here in the lumber district it would be
far more to the point if he went in for the breeding of camels, or
some other useful vehicle of transportation, instead of constructing
ferry-boats that never can be launched, and building arks in a spot
where the nearest approach to an ocean is a leak in the horse-trough."</p>
<p>I could not but admit that there was justice in these criticisms, but
when it came to the point I never felt that I could justify myself in
interfering with the boy's hobby until it was too late, and the lad
having passed his three hundredth birthday, was no longer subject to
parental discipline. I reasoned it out that after all it was better
that he should be building dories and canal-boats out under the apple
trees, and having what he called "a caulking good time," in an
innocent way, than spending his time running up and down<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></SPAN></span> the Great
White Way, between supper-time and breakfast, making night hideous
with riotous songs, as many youths of his own age were doing; and when
our family physician once tried to get him to join a football eleven
at the Enochsville High School in order to get this obsession of a
deluge out of his mind, I was not a little impressed by the
impertinent pertinence of his ready answer.</p>
<p>"No rush-line for mine, Doctor," he said, firmly. "I'd rather have
water on the brain than on the knee."</p>
<p>I had hoped that as the years passed on he would outgrow not only his
conviction of the imminence of a disastrous deluge by which the world
would be overwhelmed, and the predilection for nautical construction
that the belief had bred in him, but alas for all human expectation,
it grew upon him, instead of waning, as I had hoped. Our prosperous
farm was given<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></SPAN></span> over entirely to the demands of his ship-yard, and
when his sons, Shem, Ham and Japhet came along he directed all their
education along lines of seamanship. He fed them even in their tender
years upon hard-tack and grog. Up to the time when they were two
hundred years old he made them sleep in their cradles, which he kept
rocking continuously so that they would get used to the motion, and
would be able to go to sea when the time came without suffering from
sea-sickness. All clocks were thrust bodily out of his house, and if
anybody ever stopped at the farm to inquire the time of day he was
informed that it was "twenty minutes past six bells," or "nineteen
minutes of three bells," or some other unmeaning balderdash according
to the position of the sun. When the farmhouse needed painting,
instead of renewing the soft and lovely white that had made it a
grateful sight to the<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></SPAN></span> eye for centuries, Noah had it covered with
pitch from roof to cellar, until the whole neighborhood began to smell
like a tar barrel. And then he began his work upon this precious ark
of his—Noah's Folly, the neighbors called it; placed in the middle of
our old cow-pasture, twenty-five miles from the sea; about as big as a
summer hotel, and filled with stalls instead of state-rooms! He
mortgaged the farm to pay the first instalment on it, and when I asked
him how on earth he ever expected to liquidate the indebtedness he
smilingly replied that the deluge would take care of everything that
stood in need of liquidation when the date of maturity came round. He
was even flippant on the subject.</p>
<p>"Don't talk about falling dew," he remarked. "There'll be something
dewing around here before many days that will make you landlubbers
wish your rubbers<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></SPAN></span> were eight or nine million sizes larger than the
ones you bought last February; and as for liquidation—well, father
dear, you can take my word for it that when this mortgage of mine is
presented at my office for payment by its present holder there will be
liquid enough around to float a new bond issue in case I can't pay in
spot cash. If that is not satisfactory to my creditors, you still need
not worry. I have a definite fund in mind that will take care of
them."</p>
<p>"That is a relief," said I, innocently. "But may I ask what fund you
refer to?"</p>
<p>"Certainly, father dear," he replied. "I refer to the Sinking Fund
which will be in full working order the minute the deluge arrives."</p>
<p>This was about all the satisfaction I was ever able to get out of my
son on the subject of his Ark, and after two or three hundred years I
stopped arguing with him on the futile extravagance of his course.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></SPAN></span> As
we have seen in the last chapter of my memoirs, I did write a bit of
verse on the subject which made him very angry, but beyond that I did
nothing, and then the great scandal came!</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image_08.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="685" alt="Noah regrets having shipped guinea pigs." /> <span class="caption">Noah regrets having shipped guinea pigs.</span></div>
<p>It was the blackest hour of my life when it came to be rumored in and
about Enochsville that Noah, now grown to independent estate, had
method in his madness, and was about to embark upon a questionable
financial enterprise. One of the yellow journals of the day—for we
had them even then, although they were not put forth from printing
presses, but displayed on board fences in scare-head letters six or
eight feet high—one of the yellow journals of the day, I say, issued
a muck-raking Extra, exposing what it termed <i>The International Marine
and Zoo Flotation Company</i>, and most unfortunately there was just
enough truth in the story in so far as its details went, to lend
<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></SPAN></span>color to its sensational accusations. It could not be denied, as was
stated in <i>The Enochsville Evening Gad</i>, that Noah had built a large,
unwieldy vessel of his own designing in the old pasture up back of our
Enochsville farm, miles away from tide-level. That it resembled what
<i>The Gad</i> called a cross between a cow-barn and a Lehigh Valley
Coal-Barge, was evident to anybody who had merely glanced at it. But
what was its apparent purpose? asked the reporter of <i>The Gad</i>. Stated
to be the housing of a menagerie during a projected cruise of
forty-odd days! "What philanthropy!" ejaculated the editor of <i>The
Gad</i>. What a kindly old soul was the projector of this wonderful
enterprise, that he should take a couple of tired old elephants off on
a Mediterranean trip out of the sheer kindness of his heart! Was it
not the acme of generosity for a man who had lately been so hard up
that<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></SPAN></span> he had mortgaged his farm to go to the expense of building a
huge floating barge on which the gorillas, giraffes, and rhinoceri of
the land, having lately shown signs of enfeebled health, might take a
winter's trip to the Riviera, or to the recuperative sands of the
Sahara?</p>
<p>The article was indeed a scathing arraignment, a masterpiece of
ridicule, but as it went on it became even worse, for it now got down
to the making of serious charges against my son's integrity.</p>
<p>"Such are the alleged purposes of this project," said <i>The Gad</i>. "Let
us now consider its real purpose, far more insidious than any one has
hitherto suspected, but which is now seen to be that of <i>separating
the widows and orphans of this land from their accumulated savings</i>,
and diverting them into the <i>pockets of Noah and his family</i>!"</p>
<p>I thought I should sink through the<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></SPAN></span> floor when this met my eyes, and
I was appalled when I read on and realized how many thousands of
people would believe the plausible tale of villany <i>The Gad</i> had
managed to construct out of a few innocent facts. Noah's plan was in
brief stated to be a scheme for the impoverishment of innocent
investors, by selling them shares of stock, both common and preferred,
in his International Marine and Zoo Flotation Company. According to
the writer of this infamous libel, immediately the vessel was finished
at a cost of about $79.50, it was Noah's intention to incorporate his
enterprise with himself as President and Treasurer, and Shem, Ham and
Japhet as his Board of Directors, the capital being placed at the
enormous sum of $100,000,000.</p>
<p>"This capitalization," said the exposure, "will be divided into fifty
millions of preferred stock, and fifty millions of com<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></SPAN></span>mon, all of
which will be sold to the public at par; subject to a first mortgage
already existing, and held by Noah and his sons, which it is intended
to foreclose, and the company reorganized, the minute the $100,000,000
of the public's money has passed into the treasurer's hands.</p>
<p>"Talk about your <i>deluge</i>!" continued the article. "This is indeed the
biggest thing in <i>deluges</i> this little old world has ever known. The
Preadamite Steel Trust is a dewdrop alongside of it. Noah gets the
<i>salvage</i>, but the <i>people</i> get the <i>water</i>!"</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>Such was the attitude of the public toward my son's great project, and
all I could ever get him to say in reply to these and other equally
nefarious charges was, while he had intended to have quarters for
every kind of beast on board his boat, he had now definitely decided
to leave out<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></SPAN></span> Mastodons, Muck-Rakers and Yellow Journalists!</p>
<p>Verily there seems to be some foundation to the belief that devotion
to the life of a seaman makes a man callous to assaults on his
personal reputation!</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></SPAN></span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />