- Me? I can't. It is the one thing in all my life that I
have backed down on. There is no explaining it; if there were, I'd
do it. I, who am an artisan of speech, confess my inability to
explain why the Snark was not ready. As I have said, and as I must
repeat, it was inconceivable and monstrous.
The eight weeks became sixteen weeks, and then, one day, Roscoe
cheered us up by saying: "If we don't sail before April first, you
can use my head for a football."
Two weeks later he said, "I'm getting my head in training for that
match."
"Never mind," Charmian and I said to each other; "think of the
wonderful boat it is going to be when it is completed."
Whereat we would rehearse for our mutual encouragement the manifold
virtues and excellences of the Snark. Also, I would borrow more
money, and I would get down closer to my desk and write harder, and
I refused heroically to take a Sunday off and go out into the hills
with my friends. I was building a boat, and by the eternal it was
going to be a boat, and a boat spelled out all in capitals - B - O - A-
-T; and no matter what it cost I didn't care. So long as it was a
BOAT.
And, oh, there is one other excellence of the Snark, upon which I
must brag, namely, her bow. No sea could ever come over it.
