We are passing the Statue of Liberty. He asks me to wave and throw kisses, which rather annoys me.
The thing is too obvious. It offends my sense of sincerity.
The Statue of Liberty is thrilling, dramatic, a glorious symbol. I would feel self-conscious and cheap in deliberately waving and throwing kisses at it. I will be myself.
The incident of the photographic seeker before the Statue of Liberty upset me. I felt that he was trying to capitalise the statue. His request was deliberate, insincere. It offended me. It would have been like calling an audience to witness the placing of flowers upon a grave. Patriotism is too deep a feeling to depict in the posing for a photograph. Why are attempts made to parade such emotions? I feel glad that I have the courage to refuse.
As I turn from the photographer I feel a sense of relief. I am to have a reprieve from such annoyances. Reporters for the while are left behind. It is a delicious sense of security.
I am ready for the new adjustment. I am in a new world, a little city of its own, where there are new people—people who may be either pleasant or unpleasant, and mine is the interesting job of placing them in their proper category. I want to explore new lands and I feel that I shall have ample opportunity on such an immense ship. The Olympic is enormous and I conjure up all sorts of pleasure to be had in its different rooms—Turkish baths, gymnasium, music rooms—its Ritz-Carlton restaurant, where everything is elaborate and of ornate splendour. I find myself looking forward to my evening meal.
We go to the Ritz grill to dine. Everyone is pleasant. I seem to sense the feel of England immediately. Foreign food—a change of system—the different bill of fare, with money in terms of pounds, shillings, and pence. And the dishes—pheasant, grouse, and wild duck. For the first time I feel the elegant gentleman, the man of means.
I ask questions and discover that there are really some very interesting people aboard. But I resent anyone telling me about them. I want to discover them myself. I almost shout when someone tries to read me a passenger list. This is my desert island—I am going to explore it myself. The prospect is intriguing. I am three thousand miles from Hollywood and three thousand miles from Europe. For the moment I belong to neither.
God be praised, I am myself.