Flirtations.

There had been rain, but it was bright enough that February morning of departure just a bit squally along the west. What a gay crowd there was at the pier and on the vessel. I thought all of New York must be going. That was a mistake -they were mostly visitors, as I discovered later. It would average three visitors to one passenger, I should think. I had more than that twice as many. I am not boasting-they came mainly to see that I got aboard, and stayed there, and to see that I didn't lose most of my things. They knew me and what I would be likely to do, alone. They wanted to steer me to the right stateroom and distribute my traps. Then they could put me in charge of providence and the deck-steward, and wash their hands of me, and feel that whatever happened they had done their duty and were not to blame. So I had six, as I say, and we worked our way through, among the passengers and visitors who seemed to be all talking and laughing at once or pawing over mail and packages heaped upon the cabin table. I didn't feel like laughing and talking, and I wasn't interested in the mail. Almost everybody in the world that meant anything to me was in my crowd, and they were going away, presently, to leave me on this big ship, among strangers, bound

for strange lands. My long dream of the Orient dwindled to a decrepit thing.

But presently we found my stateroom and it was gratifying. I was impressed with its regal furnishings. After all,

there were compensations in a habitation like that. Besides, there were always the two tons of dressed chicken and those thousands of champagne. I became more cheerful. Only, I wish the ship people wouldn't find it necessary to blow their whistle so loud and suddenly to send one's friends ashore. There is no chance to carry off somebodysomebody you would enjoy having along. They blow that thing until it shivers the very marrow of one's soul.

How the visitors do crowd ashore. A word-a last kiss-a "God bless you"your own are gone presently-you are left merely standing there, abandoned, marooned, deserted-feeling somehow that it's all wrong, and that something ought to be done about it. Why don't those people hurry? You want to get away, now; you want it over with.

A familiar figure fights its way up the gangplank, breasting the shoreward tide. Your pulse jumps-they are going to take you home, after all. But no, he only comes to tell you that your six will be at a certain place near the end of the dock, where you can see them, and wave to them.

You push to the ship's side for a place at the rail. The last visitors are straggling off, now, even to the final official. Then somewhere somebody does something that slackens the cables, the remaining gangplank is dragged away. That whistle again, and then a band our band -turns loose a perfect storm of music.

We are going! We are going! We have dropped away from the pier and are gliding past the rows of upturned faces, the lines of frantic handkerchiefs. Yes, oh, yes, we are going-there is no turning back,

now, no changing of one's mind again. All the cares of work, the claims of homethey cannot reach us any more. Those waiting at the pier's end to wave as we pass-whatever life holds for me is centered there, and I am leaving it all behind. There they are, now! Wave! Wave! Oh, I did not know it would be like this. I did not suppose that I might need another handkerchief.

The smoke of a tug drifts between-I have lost them. No, there they are again, still waving. That white spot-that is a little furry coat-such a little furry coat and getting so far off, and so blurry. My glass-if I can only get hold of myself enough to see through it. Yes, there they are! Oh, those wretched boats to drift in and shut that baby figure away! Now they are gone, but I cannot find her again. The smoke, the mist and a sudden drift of snow have swept between. I have lost the direction-I don't know where to look any more. It is all over-we are off-we are going out to sea!

IV

IN THE TRACK OF THE INNOCENTS

We are through luncheon; we have left Sandy Hook, and the shores have dropped behind the western horizon. It was a noble luncheon we sat down to as we crossed the lower bay. One stopped at the serving table to admire an exhibition like that. Banked up in splendid pyramids as for a World's Fair display, garnished and embroidered and fringed with every inviting trick of decoration, it was a spectacle to take one's breath and make him resolve to consume it all. One felt that he could recover a good deal on a luncheon like that, but I think the most of us recovered too much. I am sure, now, that I did a good deal too much-and that my selections were not the best-not for the beginning of a strange, new life at sea. Then there was Laura-Laura, age fourteen, whose place at the table is next to mine, and a rather sturdy young person; I think she also considered the bill of fare too casually. She ventured the information that this was her second voyage, that the first had been a short trip on a smaller vessel and that she had been seasick. She

did not intend to be seasick on a fine, big steamer like this, and I could tell by the liberality with which she stowed away the satisfying German provender that she had enjoyed an early and light breakfast, followed by brisk exercise in getting to the ship. The tables were gay with flowers; the company looked happy, handsome and well-dressed; the music was inspiring. Friends left behind seemed suddenly very far away We had become a little world all to ourselves-most of us strangers to one another, but thrown in a narrow compass here and likely to remain associates for weeks, even months. What a big, jolly picnic it was! After all.

Outside it was bleak and squally, but no matter. The air was fine and salt and invigorating. The old Quaker City had been held by storm at anchor in the lower bay. We were already down the Narrows and heading straight for the open sea. Land presently lost its detail and became a dark outline. That, too, sank lower and became grayer and fell back into the mist. I remember that certain travelers had displayed strong emotions on seeing their native land disappear. I had none none of any consequence. I had symptoms, though, and I recognized them. Like Laura, age fourteen, I had taken a shorter voyage on a poorer ship, and I had decided that this would be different. I had engaged a steamer chair, and soon after luncheon I thought I would take a cigar and a book on Italy and come out here

and sit in it-in the chair, of course-and smoke and think and look out to sea. But when I got to the door of my stateroom and felt the great vessel take a slow, curious side-step and caught a faint whiff of linoleum and varnish from the newly renovated cabin, I decided to forego the cigar and guidebook and to take a volume on mind cure instead

It seems a good ship, though, and I feel that we shall all learn to be proud of

her, in time. In a little prospectus pamphlet I have here I find some of her measurements and capacities and I have been comparing them with those of the Quaker City, the first steamer to set out on this Oriental cruise. If she were traveling along beside us to-day I suppose she would look like a private yacht. She must have had trouble with a sea like this. She was less than three hundred feet long, I believe, and as already mentioned her tonnage was registered at eighteen hundred. The figures set down in this prospectus for this vessel are a good deal bigger than those, but they are still too modest. The figures quote her as being a trifle less than six hundred feet long, but I can see in both directions from where I sit, and I am satisfied that it would take me hours to get either to her bow or stern. I don't believe I could do it in that time. I am convinced that it is at least a half mile to my state

room.

The prospectus is correct, however, in one item. It says that the Kurfurst has a displacement of twenty-two thousand tons. That is handsome, and it is not too much; I realized that some moments ago. When I felt our noble vessel "sashay" in her slow majestic fashion toward Cuba, then pause to revolve the matter a little and after concluding to sink, suddenly set out in a long, slow, upward slide for the moon, I knew that her displacement was

all that was claimed for it, and I pre

pared for the

worst; so did

Laura and

started for her stateroom, suddenly.

Later: I don't know how many of our party went down to dinner. I know one that did not go. The music is good, but I can hear it very well from where I am.

No doubt the dinner is good, too, but I am satisfied to give it absent treatment.

There is a full-blown Scientist in the next room. She keeps saying "Mind is all. Mind is all. This nothing. This is this is just-" after which, the Earthquake.

What an amazing ocean it is to be able to toss this mighty ship about in such a way! I suppose there is no hope of her sinking. No hope!

Somebody sent me a basket of fruit. I vaguely wonder what it is like, and if I shall ever know? I suppose there are men who could untie that paper and look at it. I could stand in awe of a man like that. I could

However, it is no matter; there is no such man.

But it was bright next morning, though a heavy sea was still running. I was by no means perfectly happy, but I struggled on deck, quite early, and found company. A stout youngish man was marching round and round vigorously as if the number of laps he might achieve was vital. He fetched up suddenly as I stepped on deck. He spoke with quick energy.

"Look here," he said earnestly, "perhaps you can tell me, it's important; and I want to know; is a seasick man better off if he walks or sits still? I'm seasick. I confess it, fully. My interior economy is

all disqualified and I want advice. Now tell me, is a seasick man better off when he walks, or when he sits still?"

I gave it up, and the Diplomat (we learned later that he was connected with the consular service) passed to the next possible source of information. I heard him propounding his inquiries several times during the morning as new arrivals appeared on deck. He was the most honest man on the ship. The rest of us did not confess that we were seasick. We had a bad cold or rheumatism or dyspepsia or locomotor-ataxia or pleurisy-all sorts of things but we were not seasick. It was remarkable what a floating hospital of miscellaneous complaints the ship had suddenly become, and how suddenly they all disappeared that afternoon when the sea went down.

It was Lincoln's birthday and, inspired by the lively appearance of the deck, a kindly promotor of entertainment went among the passengers inviting them to take part in some sort of simple exercises for the evening. Our pleasure excursion seemed really to have begun, now, and walking leisurely around the promenade deck one could get a fair impression of our company and cast the horoscope. They were a fair average of Americans, on the whole, with a heavy percentage of foreign faces, mostly German. Referring to the passenger list one discovered that we hailed from many states, but when I drifted into the German purlieus of that register and found such prefixes as Herr Regierungs-prä sident a. D., and Frau Regierungspräsident a. D., and looking farther discovered Herr Kommerzienrat,

Herr Oberpräsidialrat von and a few more high-power explosives like that, I said, "This is not an excursion, after all; it is a court assembly." I did not know in the least what these titles meant, but I was uneasy. I had the feeling that the owner of any one of them could nod to the executioner and dismiss me permanently from the ship. The interpreter came along just then. He said:

"Do not excite yourself. They are not so dangerous as they look. It is only as one would say, 'Mr. and Mrs. Councilmanofthethirdward Jones, or Mr. MayorofOshkosh Smith, or Mrs. Commissionerofhighways Brown.' It is pure decoration; nothing fatal will occur." I felt better then and set out to identify some of the owners of this furniture. It was as the interpreter had said there was no danger. A man with a six-story title could hardly be distinguished from the rest of his countrymen except when he tried to sign it. But a thing like that must be valuable in Germany; otherwise he would not go to the great trouble and expense of lugging such a burden around on a trip like this, when one usually wants to travel light.

The ship gave us a surprise, that night, and it was worth while. When we got to the dining room we found it decorated with the interwoven colors of two nations; the tables likewise radiant, and there were menus with the picture of Abraham Lincoln outside. We were far out in the blackness of the ocean, now, but here was as brilliant a spot as you would find at Sherry's or Delmonico's, and a little company of two hundred travelers gathered from the world's end to do honor to the pioneer boy of Kentucky. There was an electric display when the ice cream came on. The lights suddenly went out and an instant later re

turned, but this time in many colors. Then the

uniformed waiters marched in, each bearing a lighted tray of ices and encircled the dining room around and around, passing between the tables while the band played and we beat time with a measured clapping of our hands. Certainly the Germans know how to play, and we joined in like any other band of children gathered for a birthday party. After the dinner came our little exercises, and if they were not distinguished they were at least simple, and nobody was bored-for very long. I think many of us there had never observed Lincoln's birthday before, and it was fitting enough that we should begin at such a time and place. I know we all rose and joined in "America" and the "Star Spangled Banner" at the close, and we are not likely to forget that mid-ocean celebration of the birth of America's greatest, gentlest hero.

V

DAYS AT SEA

We have settled down into a pleasant routine of lazy life. Most of us are regularly on deck now, though one sees new faces daily, here and there, as some one whose particular malady under whatever name has finally yielded to time and restor

atives. We have taken up such amusements as please us-reading, games, gossip, diaries, picture-puzzles, and there are even one or two mild flirtations discoverable. In the "booze-bazaar" (the Diplomat's name for the smoking room) the reprobates find solace in pleasant mixtures and droll stories, while they win one another's money at diverting games. They are an attractive lot-the reprobates. One can hardly tear himself away from them, only the odors of the smoking room are not quite attractive, as yet. I am no longer seasick, at least not definitely so, but I still say, "Mind is all" as I pass through the smoking room.

We are getting well acquainted, too, for the brief period of time we have been together. It does not seem brief, however. That bleak day of departure in North River is already far back in the past, as far back as if it belonged to another period, which indeed it does. We are becoming acquainted, as I say. We are rapidly finding out one another's names; whether we are married, single or divorced-and why; what, if anything, we do when we are at home; how we happened to come on this trip, and a great deal of useful information-useful on a ship like this, where the voyage is to be a long one and associations more or less continuous. We