very confidential, and one day
stated that she was matrimonially inclined and intimated that she would
welcome an introduction to an aged millionaire in delicate health, as
it might result in her being able to carry out some ambitious plans she
had made in "philomathy." By the time we reached Cairo she had lowered
her figures to a very modest amount--but she is still a widow.

The human mushroom was also in evidence--the girl narrow and straight
up-and-down, like a tube ending in a fishtail, with a Paquin wrap and a
Virot hat, reinforced with a steel net wire neck-band--the very latest
fads from Paris. Her gowns were grand, her hats were great, I tell
you! When some one was warbling at the piano, she would put her elbow
on the lid of the "baby grand," face the audience, and strike a
stained-glass attitude that would make Raphael's cartoons look like
subway posters.

[Illustration: FUNCHAL THE LONG BRANCH OF MADEIRA; NICE BALMY PLACE FOR
A REST AFTER A PANIC. STEAMER LEAVES LONDON TWICE A WEEK. HOTEL
ACCOMMODATIONS BY CABLE]

Among those present who came all the way from Medicine Hat was the
cowboy girl, who could ride a mustang, toss a steer with a lariat,
shoot a bear or climb a tree. She wore a sombrero, rolled up her
sleeves, and was just _dying_ to show what she could do if she had only
half a chance. She got it when we came to the donkey rides in Egypt.
She was a "Dreadnaught girl," sure enough.

The claims of the pocket "Venus" from the "Soo," must not be forgotten.
She was small and of the reversible, air-cooled, selective type, but as
perfect as anything ever seen in a glass case. She wore a spray of
soft-shell crab-apple blossoms in her hair, which stamped her with the
bloom of Arcady. She spilled her chatter lavishly, and had the small
change of conversation right at her finger-tips. She had an
early-English look, and was deservedly popular with the boys.

The beet-sugar man from Colorado also had his place. This specialist
put his table to sleep before we lost sight of land. He stifled his
listeners with sugar statistics, informing them how many tons of beets
the State produced and what they were worth in money; how much to
expect from an acre, and the risks and profits of the industry: a
collection of facts that were the mythology of alleged truth. If you
were good the gods would make you a sugar-king in the world to come,
and Colorado was to be financially sugar-cured in the sweet by-and-b