--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - R. W. Sloan collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 6 number: 10 published: 1903-08 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'R. W. Sloan, "An Unintentional Dip," *Improvement Era* 6, no. 10 (August 1903): 744–747.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0610unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera0610unse start_page: 744 end_page: 747 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1903-08) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0610unse publication_year: 1903 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1903, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # An Unintentional Dip AN UNINTENTIONAL DIP. BY R. W. SLOAN. He may not agree as to the victim in the case; but it is all — me so clear that, dispute it though he may, very clear to the fact still remains, that Easton went in with all his clothes on. Many of the readers of the Era know of R. C. Easton, the tenor, some time past connected with the "Bonnie Brier for Bush" company. In the days I write of, he sang "Annie Laurie" to me, dreaming not that at a later time he would be delighting with his wonderful voice vast audiences in different parts of the new land. We roomed together at a little spot called Annfield, just west of Leitb, where his place of business was; and every night sank to sleep with the sounds of the Firth of Forth falling on our ears, as it lapped the walled esplanade with soft murmurs, or beat upon it with angry swish and roar. Dear, dear, those days! How pleasant to look upon! And how premonitory of coming events, as seen at this distance; yet how unconscious were we of all that time held for us! But it was the intention to describe an involuntary bath Easton had. Who made the suggestion is unimportant, but it was suggested that we go to Portabello, a watering place on the Firth, about four miles from Edinburgh. The season was still early, and, at its best, bathing in the Firth cannot be described as a "hot time" —the latitude and the east winds conspiring to keep the water uniformly at a reduced temperature. But we had decided to bathe. As the incoming or outflowing of the tides renders uncertain the distance to water deep enough to bathe in, dressing rooms, or bathing "boxes," as they are very properly called, are built on AN UNINTENTIONAL DIP. ' wheels, and a horse hauls box and bather to the water, and when the bath is finished, is presumed to pull both back to solid earth. Keed I say there is a cost attached to this? But the water was free. As before slated, the season was early, and, if not the first to take a dip that year, we were among the first. I have no recol- lection of seeing anyone on the beach when we went in, save the man who rented the bathing box. But the shore was lined with spectators when we got out. The tide was on hand — in fact, it met us. After paying the fee demanded, we got into the "box," and were hauled to a point where the water was about knee deep. We donned our bathing suits and plunged in. While cold, the water was invigorating, and, as we were in no hurry to get through, we remained in until the water was perceptibly deeper. Then we got back to the bathing box and found the waves were almost covering the floor. We dressed hurriedly, and had to stand on the benches or seats built around on the inside of the box, to keep our feet dry and our clothes from being saturated. Finally we were customarily at- tired. As the door of the "box" opens towards the sea, and your horse is on the shore, a hole is left in the "box" on the shore side, and out of this a towel is hung to indicate that the occupant is ready to be pulled back to land. We forgot this until dressed. But the towel was at once stuck out of the opening. Meanwhile, the water rose in the "box," and the waves plashed menacingly close to the seats on which we stood. We peered anxiously out of the aperture, but the proprietor had evi- dently found more agreeable or necessary occupation, for hide nor hair of him could we see. The shore, too, was deserted. Distant as we were from it, we flapped the soaked towel backward and forward out of the little hole that looked toward the dry land, and then tried our voices. How long we kept this up I cannot recall. At length attention was attracted. Our distant landlord and his trusty horse came in sight, and we heaved a sigh of relief as we saw them start through the inflowing tide toward us. And the water, in the language of the waiter in the up-to-date hashery, was still "comin' up." At last we became attached— which same is an affectionate way of declaring that we were hooked on to the horse. 746 IMPROVEMENT ERA. But the horse was too weak, or too new to the business, or the- water was too deep, or the incoming tide had packed too solidly the sand around the wheels, or something was wrong for the' poor beast was powerless to budge the "oox." And the tide still kept "comin' up." Then the shore began to be dotted with inter- ested, and finally alive with excited spectators. We could see- their gesticulations as we peered through the towel hole, and could hear, faintly, their exclamations and directions, though we could not understand them. It must be remembered, though we had not move by this time we were a greater distance from the ' shore than when we donned the bathing suits — because of the in- flowing tide. Our landlord concluded he could not drag us out. There were three of us and but one horse. The owner of the animal, strange as it may seem, objected to wading back and letting us ride. Besides, his feet, as he sat astride the beast and drew them up, were yet in the water. By this time, also, the waves, not now so gentle as erstwhile, began roughly to ride along the top of the seats on which we were standing. Our dilemma was beginning to lose all sense of the humorous. There was no danger; but we had gone out for a bath, not for a drenching. It finally dawned on all of us that a boat migiit prove useful and convenient. I am frank to say I do not now recall which of the three had belated sense enough to suggest this; but, after some hesitation on the part of the owner of the "box," now fast becoming a bath tub, he started shoreward. Some pitying soul on the shore had, meanwhile, the fx)re- thought to think the same thing, and, acting upon the thought, started towards us with a boat. And there were "some folk" on the shore by this time, and still more excitement. We were holding the door of the "box" open, not so much to let the water in as to keep the door from being pushed to by the weight of the waves on the outside. At last our rescuer came to the sea side of the wooden prison. We were well occupied in dodging waves that were pretty heavy, and it was difficult to hold the boat so it was close enough to get into, yet not close enough to be dashed by the waves against the bath- ing box, and so be damaged. But we were saved. At an oppor- AN UNINTENTIONAL DIP. 747 tune moment I landed safely in the boat. Then the rescuer and I tried jointly to hold it so Easton could get in. But my weight made it heavier, and it was not a little risky to have him jump as I had done, so we bided our time for a favorable juxtaposition of conditions. At last all things were propitious, and we jointly and hurriedly urged Easton to step in. He hesitated a second only, and then stepped into —the water, now as deep as his chest. The boat had lurched the moment he stepped, and he received an involuntary bath. So we were rescued. It is four miles from Portabello to Edinburgh, and about three miles thence to Annfield. We were dry when we reached Ann- field. We walked there. LABOR IS THE LEVER TO SUCCESS. Boys often make a sericus mistake in not realizing the seri- ousness of life's problems. Nearly every one of them expects to rise to distinction and wealth, but no one fully appreciates the self-sacrifice and labor and steady application necessary, except the few who have traveled the road. These things do not come by chance nor by wishing. Boys, you ought to look ahead of you and see if you can figure out any reasonable and practicable plan for getting your bread and butter and clothes to wear during the long years you expect to live. Boys, there is no royal road. People will not rush to be doctored by a trifler. What use to the farmer is good soil and sunshine and rain, if he doesn't plant a crop and attend to it ? You may want a job when you get out of school. Do you suppose any business man wants a smart Aleck about him ? Do you think he wants a young man who has not trained himself to work ? Do you think a boy who has a reputation for trickery, is too cute to be square, open and manly, can get a decent job? The young man who can be serious, obedient, manly will easily secure a posi- tion. Don't think that you will be an exception, a favorite of fortune. The world of business will pass judgment upon you, and it will be about as you deserve. New York Times.