The Canadian Development Company came near losing. their Whitehorse
agent one day last week. Mr. Abrahams, the aforesaid agent, had resolved upon making a name for himself by shooting the rapids in a Peterborough canoe. To convince the sceptical ones and prove the deed of daring to have been really accomplished, Abrahams provided for a witness which could not lie and would be accepted as proof positive during all future generations, when his children, and great grandchildren should refer to the remarkable
physical courage of their explorer of an ancestor; The witness was to be a photograph. This required the enlistment of another person in the enterprise. Now, Tom Sammons is an enthusiastic amateur with a kodak, and was easily persuaded to plant his tripod on the bank to focus it on the boiling water and awalt the coming of the would-be famous local agent of the C. D. Co.
On the start all went merry as a marriage bell. Abrahams stepped into his
canoe above Miles canyon, seated himself gracefully in the stern, lit a fragrant Canadian Development Havana, and with a few deft strokes forced himself into the middle of the stream. With a graceful wave of the hand to his friends he entered the canyon. Calmly and magestically he passed between those walls of rock like a Viking born to rule the waves. Before half an inch of his cigar was gone he had surmounted the difficulties of the Squaw rapids and was turning into Whitehorse. The men on the tramroad saw him and cheered; but if an extra paddle had been strapped to his back, Abrahams could not have sat up any more stiffly or looked more haughtily indifferent to the_plebian approbation of the vulgar rabble than he did as he took the center of the turbulent stream and headed for the final plunge, which was to mark him a hero and send his picture, taken in the act, broadcast over the earth - perhaps to be reproduced in the Police Gazette or Frank Leslie's Popular Illustrated. Weekly.
But pride goeth before a fall - or a ducking as it proved in this case. Enthusiastic Tom Sammons, with his head under the cloth and his eyes on the ground-glass of his patent get-at able extensible, reversible, adjustable glass plate or film camera, suddenly saw the proud canoeist come within the focus of his machine. Snap! and the first picture was taken with the canoe on the crest of the wave. No time now for tripod or ground glass work. The kodak was hastily detached and held in the hands of the enthusiastic photographer. Snap!! And he had him with just his cap showing above the waves. Snap again and the canoe was turning in the air. Snap!! and the canoe, upside down, together with the paddle, were the only objects seen floating disconsolately on the water. The excited photographer had never before had such a glorious opportunity for the exercise of his art and with camera in both hands ran rapidly down to the water's edge. Just then a head and one arm appeared above the surf.
"Cheer up, old man," shouted Tom, "I've. got you splendid." Then looking over his shoulder to a tramway man near on the bank above, but not for a minute losing his focus on his drowning friend, he shouted angrily, "Hurry up, mister or by Heavens he'll
drown!"
Time after tithe the little instrument snapped, clicking off the records of the progress of the tragedy with the precision of a clock. "I've got you going down the second time!" shouted Tom, with intense enthusiasm. "I've got you hanging onto the paddle!" he screamed a minute later. Once more the happy man looked over his shoulder to urge the tramway man to hurry to the rescue with a fence rail or pole, while he himself walked along the water's edge ready to focus the hapless Abrahams the next time he appeared.
By herculean efforts the drowning man worked his way near enough to shore at last to reach the friendly pole held out to him, and was. photographed, of course as he struggled to land, with every trace of dignity lost and face as blue as indigo.
Tom eagerly squeezed his hand as he shook off the water like a spaniel and assured him "I've got you, old man, going down the first, second and last time, and Oh! they're beauties. I've even got you in the act of swallowing your cigar."
Abrahams does not swear, as a rule, but he turned a cold, shivery, scornful eye upon the enthusiast sufficient to cool a furnace. Slowly and_ sententiously he remarked: "Tom, you're a born fool. I wish you and your blooming machine were where I've been. Why on earth didn’t you try to do something for me yourself?"
Tom looked startled at the suggestion: "Why, I—I—I beg your pardon old man, but I forgot about everything but the pictures, by 'Jove. 'Pon my word I'd have helped if I had thought." And now they don't speak as they pass by.
