draught. It is possible for him to hire a sailing-master who knows his business, to engage a temperance crew, and even to secure the services of a steward who is honest to the core. But there is ever present with him, from the morning he goes into commission in the spring until the chilly afternoon in the autumn when he hauls into winter quarters, the Yachting Parasite.
The yacht owner soon becomes painfully aware of the existence of this excrescence. Whenever a camel falls down exhausted on the sands of the desert, a vulture is sure to await him with ravenous appetite and murderous beak and talons. So, too, wherever a yacht owner touches, he is always sure to be beset by some flattering knave eager for an invitation, and longing to stretch his legs under the cabin table and partake of its hospitable fare.
This is the fellow to steer clear of, for if he once manages to get himself domesticated he becomes like a tame cat. He will flirt with the ladies aboard, if they are so foolish as to permit it; he will rook your son at cards; he will call for and drink your choicest vintages, and smoke your most fragrant weeds; and all this with an insolent air of proprietorship galling in the extreme. The only way to rid yourself of his presence is to burn the yacht, or to lash a couple of cannon balls to his legs and make him walk the plank. He is above taking even a broad hint to depart.
