crowd
and the smoke-room crowd. I can not tell you much about the former, as I
see them only now and then at meals; but the smoke-room is always full
of pleasant chaps. You see, the smoke-room on an English liner is made
(like English law) for men only, and, being made for men, it is the most
comfortable place upon the ship. It is my habit to make for the
smoke-room as soon as I decently can (or even sooner), there to lie upon
a leather couch, feet up, back propped against a cushion, and smoke, or
doze, or read, or talk, or think about the endlessness of transatlantic
trips. Only two things can drive me from the smoke-room: one is the
smoke-room steward, who closes up at night; the other is my own sense of
shipboard duty toward family or friends. Occasionally one has to go and
see how they are faring.

How the ship rolls and lurches the moment that one rises from the
leather couch! How cold and damp and windy is the deck, how desolate the
ladies' cabin when one comes from the snugness of the smoke-room! Upon a
narrow seat just inside the cabin door, an indelicate old person lies,
eyes closed and jaws agape. Across the room, a book turned downward in
her lap, sits the forlorn object of your fond solicitude. Her eyes are
gazing straight ahead, at nothing.

"Ah, dear," you say, approaching with the best show of gaiety that you
can muster, "here you are, eh? I thought I'd come and see if you wanted
me."

"Oh, no."

"Did that canned pineapple disagree with you? I'm glad _I_ didn't touch
it. Well, then, I'll run in and see them auction off the pool. You won't
mind? By-by, dear."

You think that you want air. Reeling to the wind swept deck, you cling
unsteadily to an iron post at the fore part of the ship. Your cap goes
flying overboard, carried, like an aeroplane, upon the gale; your cigar
is blown to shreds; you feel the sting of cold salt spray upon your
face; your eyeballs rock with the great bow of the ship, which rears
itself in air, higher, higher, higher, then smashes down upon the sea,
throwing green, hissing mountains off to either side, only to rear and
smash again a million times.

Yet some people say this is agreeable! this senseless movement of a
ship, this utter waste of time and energy! But you know better. You let
go of the post, bolt down the deck, dive into the smoke-room, and fling
yourself again upon the leather couch. As you touch it, a magic calm
o'erspreads the sea. Then all is well until your s