IT PAYS TO ADVERTISE On Friday night it rained and the Alligators were driven into their tent.

It rained all night and was still raining when the momentous Saturday dawned.

They were compelled to eat breakfast in their tent, the top of which was plastered with apple blossoms so that the khaki-colored fabric looked not unlike a brown wall paper with a floral design.
The tide being out, the rain pattered down on the surrounding mud and shallow places, and the members of the patrol sat in the open doorway of their cozy little shelter wistfully gazing at the downpour, and watching the little holes that the raindrops made in the mud.
Each drop, like a bullet, drove a little hole in the oozy bottom, which slowly closed up again.

Schools of darting killies hurried this way and that frantically seeking an avenue into the deeper places where puddles would afford them a haven during the lowest ebb.

Rain, rain, rain.
On the porch of the boat-house a mile or so down-stream was gathered a group of young fellows, also watching wistfully.