say, if one is
asked. Eh, what? The only man in England who has a right to say he
cannot sing is one who is literally dumb, and as he cannot say it, it is
never said. And so, you see, Britannia Rules the Wave, and all that sort
of thing.

At the end of the concert, "God Save the King" strikes up, and everybody
rises and lifts such voice as he has in song, the American passengers
labouring under a conviction that the words begin "My country, 'tis of
thee," until the Britons drown them out.

But we have our turn, for "The Star-Spangled Banner" is played
immediately after. The words of this excellent song (as Mr. Rupert
Hughes has pointed out) begin with something of this sort:

Oh say, can you see by the dawn's early light
How the la ta-ta ta, and the ta-ta ta tum-tum.

So we proceed until we reach the spirited "ba-a-an-ner ye-et wa-ave,"
and the shrieking climax of "the la-and--of--the--free-e-e-e!" The
object of the game is not to let the British find out that we don't know
the words.

* * * * *

On German ships, particularly those in the Mediterranean service, the
gay occasion of the voyage will be the Captain's Dinner, a function
which doubtless draws its name from the fact that the captain is
invariably absent from the table. But if the captain doesn't come,
everybody else does, and there is more dress than usual, and there are
lights inside the ices. After dinner, the deck is illuminated with
coloured electric bulbs, the band plays, and the people "trip the light
fantastic toe," as country papers put it. On German liners it's not
always light, but it is frequently fantastic.

There are two great events that occur on this occasion. Some young men
from the section which is the backbone of our country--if not it's
fashion centre--appear on deck in dinner-coats and derby hats. They have
read somewhere a fashion note stating that "the derby or bowler hat is
the one headpiece _de rigueur_ with the Tuxedo or dinner suit," and they
mean to be _comme il faut_ upon their trip abroad, or "bust." The other
great event is the ship's belle in her pink chiffon. It makes you almost
wish you were a dancing-man, to see her. But there are dancing-men
enough--among them the ship's doctor. He leads her in the mazes of the
waltz and, while dancing, is given an anaesthetic, in shape of a
languishing glance or two. Before he comes to, his partner has performed
a minor operation on him--the amputa