I considered telling her my name. At first it seemed that that would be more polite. Then I saw to do so would be forcing myself upon her, that she was interested in me only as a guide to New York Harbor.
When we passed the Brooklyn Navy Yard I talked so much and so eagerly of the battle-ships at anchor there that the lady must have thought I had followed the sea, for she asked: "Are you a sailorman?"
It was the first question that was in any way personal.
"I used to sail a catboat," I said.
My answer seemed to puzzle her, and she frowned. Then she laughed delightedly, like one having made a discovery.
"You don't say 'sailorman,'" she said. "What do you ask, over here, when you want to know if a man is in the navy?"
She spoke as though we were talking a different language.
"We ask if he is in the navy," I answered.
She laughed again at that, quite as though I had said something clever.
"And you are not?"