Perhaps this is a bit rough on the graduate from Oxford and Cambridge; but I think most of them will admit that there is a certain amount of truth in what I say. Of course, in my experience throughout the Empire I have found the varsity man a magnificent type of Britisher, but it is obvious that he has got to learn a few lessons, and lessons are sometimes hard things to learn.
X
SUBMARINES
Bethlehem, U. S. A., August 30, 1917.
The other day Dicky C—— and I went to Atlantic City for the week end. So many of my Bethlehem friends go to this place every year, that I felt my American experience would not be complete without a visit. We left this town at about three o'clock; we ought to have left sooner. The chauffeur developed caution to an almost unlimited extent and this worried Dicky, a furious driver himself. He told me with some pride the number of times he had been arrested on the White Horse Pike. The caution of the chauffeur was responsible for our arrival at our destination at about ten o'clock at night.
Being Saturday night, of course, it was impossible for a time to get either rooms or food. At the hotel where Dicky usually stopped we were turned down. His Majesty, the clerk, disliked the shape of our noses or our clothing or something. We spent one dollar fifty in telephone calls trying to get some hotel to take us in.
We started with the good ones, but even the fifth class houses were full. I therefore approached the clerk and explained that I was a British officer with nowhere except the sands upon which to sleep. This worked like magic.
We were shown into what was called a club room near the top of the building, where twelve beds were arranged hospital fashion. Our fellow guests were not there then, so we decided to sleep on the balcony in case any of them snored. The building is a beautiful one, having wonderful sort of battlements, and we fixed our beds out on one of these.