Life — September 17, 1885 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

- LIFE: TRUE TO NATURE. MIFKINS was strolling slowly down the shady side of a by-street, carrying his mackinac hat carelessly in one hand, while he listlessly waved a Japanese fan in the other. Little streams of perspiration meandered down his spinal column, and his broiled imagination was picturing cool, mid- swept beaches and splashing waves in a way that only made the sweltering heat more intolerable. Suddenly his eyes fell upon a sign which read, “A Genuine Naragansett Salt Water Surf Bath. Perfect Imitation of Ocean Bathing. Only $1.” Without a moment's hesitation he entered the establish- ment. A weak-eyed clerk was sitting at a small desk near the front door, and behind him a score of rusty keys, ornamented with brass tags, dangled from rows of little hooks. “Can you give me a dona side surf bath, with plenty of spray and a good, strong undertow ?” asked Smifkins. “ Any kind you want,” answered the clerk. “ What style do you prefer? Long Branch, Coney Island, Newport, Rye Beach, Rockaway, Quogue——” “T guess I'd like a Rockaway bath,” said Smifkins, musingly, as he handed over his watch and chain and paid his dollar. The clerk touched a bell. “John, one Rockaway bath, with a medium undertow! Right that way, sir.” “Tsay,” said Smifkins, as he followed the attendant, “ will the bath be a perfect imitation of a sea bath?” * “Tf you wish it, sir,” said the man. ‘“ Do you want an absolute imitation—down to the smallest details?” “Quite right,” said Smifkins. “ That's what I've paid my money for. Now, then, go ahead.” John first took him to a little window to select his suit and get a bath-house. The bathing-master “ sized up” Smifkins, and then carefully picked out of the pile two suits—one about eight sizes too large for him, and the other half a dozen sizes too small. On being assured that those were the only ones left, Smifkins chose the larger and retired to his bath-house. This consisted of a dark closet, lined with unplaned pine boards, lit by a square hole in the top of the door, and furnished with a few nails and a board seat. The floor was realistically wet and sandy, and the temperature about 94 degrees. Smifkins’ spirits began to rise. It was really very life-like. In about five minutes Smifkins issued forth attired in the suit, which he wrapped around himself once or twice and tied together with a shoestring, looking for all the world like an animated ragbag. A pretty girl, whom he had winked at as he passed through the office, was of course sitting just where she could see him. Smifkins tried to look unconscious of his ludicrous appearance, but the pretty girl burst out laughing. The bathing-master persuaded him to put on a tattered ten- cent straw hat, and then, being aware that his suit did not fit very well behind, he started to walk backward down the long hall that led “ To the Surf.” The floor was covered with sand, which was heated from beneath so that it blistered Smifkins’ feet in the most surprisingly natural manner. He, 159 moreover, stepped on sharp clam shells, bits of broken glass and barrel hoops, and stubbed his toes on stones in a way that made the illusion complete. By the time he reached the surf he was in a swearing heat. A gas sun in the ceiling made his head very hot, and the water into which he stepped seemed icy cold. Smifkins wet his finger in it and tasted it. It was unmistakably salt. He noticed the sand was covered with small, slippery pieces of tapioca. “Little jelly-fish,” explained the attendant. “A shoal of ‘em were blown in bya storm at sea. Bathin’ ain't very good to-day.” “Suppose I had come yesterday ?” asked Smifkins. “ Beach covered with seaweed.” “ And the day before?” “ Water full of stuff from the garbage scows.”” “Always something the matter whenever I want to go in?” “ Yes, sir.” “ How very life-like,” said Smifkins. “Had I better hold on to the rope? Oh, all right! Now bring on your surf.” One side of the tank seemed to open. A barrel full of water struck Smifkins in the pit of the stomach, the rope was suddenly wrenched out of his hand, he was whirled around by some unseen force, his head was rubbed about in the sand, and he then found himself sitting on the beach. His eyes, cars and nose were filled with salt water, his hat was gone, and his hair was full of sand and seaweed. He sat there several minutes picking the splinters from the rope out of his hands, and repairing the damage to his suit. He then Ragman: MADAME, SHUST DVENTY-FOUR POUNDS. Biddy: Ye OLD SCOUNDREL IT WEIGHS OVER FORTY, FOR OI WEIGHED IT MESELF. Ragman: B—LIEVE ME, MADAME, I VOULDN’T SHEAT A CHILD, BUT, MY SCALES VILL ONLY VAY DVENTY- FOUR POUNDS,