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One day he went down to the lake with a piece of clothesline. On the way he whistled to Zip, the playful dog. "What are you going to do with him?" asked Russ. "I'm going to see if he'll give me a ride," answered Laddie. "A ride? How? There isn't any express wagon here." "I don't need an express wagon," said Laddie. "I'm going to make Zip be a whale, or maybe a shark, and pull me on my raft-boat."
He had spent more hours of each day of his life in his rude raft-boat, or in walking slowly with poised spear along creek banks, or, with bent back, digging for the great luscious shell-fish which made a portion of his food, than he had spent afoot and on land, with the smell of growing things in his nostrils. The flavor of the water was his, the flavor of the wood the cave man's.
Far beneath he could hear the soft plash upon the sandy shore of the little wavelets that came sweeping in the wake of the raft-boat and spending their tiny strength upon the strand; far down on the hotel point he could still hear the soft melody of the waltz; he remembered how the band used to play that same air, and wondered why it was he used to like it; it jarred him now.