Where a gent can go his way
With no fear of being picked on forty thousand times a day.
VIII
BACK IN OLD “O SAY”; I START ANSWERING QUESTIONS
Sunday, September 23. At Sea.
A card on the wall of my stateroom says: “Name of Steward—Ring Once. Name of Stewardess—Ring Twice.” If they’ll give us deck space, we can put on a three Ring circus.
The ship was still in bond when we awoke this morning, and the cheerful rumor floated round that she sometimes remained in harbor a week before securing the Admiralty’s permission to sail. But life-boat drill was ordered right after breakfast, and Ring Once told me this indicated a speedy departure. My boat is No. 9. It’s a male boat except for one Japanese lady, Mrs. Kajiro Come-here-o, whose husband is also of our select crew.
Our drillmaster advised us to wear plenty of heavy clothes till we were out of the danger zone, advice which it is impossible for me to follow. He said five blasts of the whistle would mean we were attacked. I think, however, that if I hear as many as three I’ll start sauntering toward No. 9.
At noon we felt the throb of the engines, and forty minutes later we were out of bond and able to buy cigarettes.
Before luncheon we were assigned to our permanent seats. Naturally, I am at the captain’s table, with a member of the House of Commons, a member of the House of Lords, a plain English gentleman, a retiring attaché of our embassy in London, his journalistic wife, and M. de M. Hanson of Washington and Peoria, his first name being Mal de Mer.
The talk to-day has been of nothing but submarines. The superstitious call attention to the fact that with us is a lady who was on the Lusitania when they torpedoed it. To offset that, however, we carry the president’s youngest son-in-law, and surely there must be a limit to boche ruthlessness.