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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Come on!" they howled in chorus. A big whitecap broke just beyond, washing over the barge and leaving the Alma half swamped. The men cast off, cursing him as they ran up their sail. Rasmunsen cursed back and fell to bailing. The mast and sail, like a sea anchor, still fast by the halyards, held the boat head on to wind and sea and gave him a chance to fight the water out.
It was cramped quarters for them all in the wagon, with the camping equipment, jolting along the country roads; and they walked most of the hills. But the journey was a jubilant one, and they welcomed the first gleaming of Whitecap pond with whoops of delight.
I cannot remember the reply, but the Leading Signalman had laughed once more. But "Bunting" will never smile again. He went down with his ship on May 31, 1916. The North Sea is his grave and the curling whitecap his tombstone. His epitaph may be written across the sky in a trail of smoke from some passing steamer.
We've had to sell half the cows, because we can't feed them." Henry Burns whistled. "It's tough," he said, and added, doubtfully, "How about that week up at the pond? Can you go?" John Ellison looked downcast. "I'd forgotten all about that," he said. "We did plan for a week at Old Whitecap, didn't we? I'm afraid it's all up for me, though.
As she rose and retired, with a hasty apology to Whitecap for her indiscretion, Kennedy turned to me and exclaimed, "Think of it. The deadliest of all habits is the simplest. No hypodermic; no pipe; no paraphernalia of any kind. It's terrible."
As we sat down we glanced over, and there in his corner still was Whitecap. Apparently his supply of the dope was inexhaustible, for he was still dispensing it.
That is why you wrote the note to Mrs. Sutphen, hoping that she might be treated in some institution." Kennedy paused as a look of incredulity passed over Armstrong's face. "Another thing you said was true," added Kennedy. "You can get all the heroin you want. Armstrong, you will put the address of that place on the outside of the note, or both you and Whitecap go to jail.
"I may keep these?" he asked. "Certainly," replied Mrs. Sutphen. "That's what I had Miss McCann get them for." Kennedy dropped the bottle into his pocket. "So that was the gang leader, 'Whitecap," he remarked as we turned again to Broadway. "Yes," replied Mrs. Sutphen.
In fact, having been there the night before, we had established ourselves, as it were, and were welcomed as old patrons and good spenders. I noticed, however, that Whitecap was not there.
The story had been read by such of the dope fiends as had not fallen too far to keep abreast of the times and these and the waiters were busy quietly warning off a line of haggard-eyed, disappointed patrons who came around, as usual. Some of them were so obviously dependent on Whitecap that I almost regretted having written the story, for they must have been suffering the tortures of the damned.
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