own to its very depths. The sea treated him abominably. He
retaliated by throwing a book. If the sea had any sense of shame it
would dry up, and so would certain of the passengers upon it. The
Cheerful One, for instance:

"He sees you are dozing, he knows you are ill;
But he _will_ sidle up, just to say,
As he crowds his gay person on half of your chair,
'Well, how's the boy feeling to-day?'"

Don't ever fancy that the Cheerful One among the passengers inquires
thus because he cares a whit. He only wishes to emphasise his own
immunity from _mal de mer_, and blow the smoke of his disgusting pipe
into your face. Neither his stomach nor his intellect is sensitive. He
has a monologue on sea-sickness: it is all nonsense, imagination. It
denotes weakness, not so much of the stomach as of the mentality, the
will, the character. And besides, you don't call _this_ rough, do you?
You ought to have crossed with him in the old _Nausia_ in 'eighty-nine.
Fourteen days and the racks never off the table! Only two other
passengers at meals, and--don't you feel it coming?--the captain said it
was the--but you fill in the rest. Ah, if the _Nausia_ had only sunk
with all on board!

[Illustration: QUITE THE NICEST PLACE ON THE WHOLE SHIP IS THE
SMOKE-ROOM.]

When the voyage is smooth and the Cheerful One is denied the joy of
making sea-sick folk feel sicker, he is disappointed but not idle, for
he may still extort confessions from untravelled persons. You know
him: the solid, red-faced man who dresses for dinner and sits at the
head of the table eating fried things loud and long when it is rough. He
wears travel as though it were the Order of the Garter, and tells you,
between mouthfuls, about all the ships that sail the seas. "No, sir!
Pardon _me!_ The table on this ship cannot compare with that of the old
_Gorgic_. The _Potterdam's_ the only ship for table outside the
Ritz-Carlton boats, though Captain Van der Plank's a personal friend of
mine. He knows what eating _is_, sir! Still, I like the small boats--no
elevators, gymnasiums, and swimming-pools for me. I like to know I'm at
sea, sir." And all the time he's casting round for a victim who has
never been across before.

You see, there is something very ignominious in making a first
transatlantic trip. No one should ever do it. Everybody should begin
with the second or third trip. Yet I remember a little Kansas City
lawyer I met on the _New Amsterdam_, who didn't seem