Saturday, September 29. At Sea.
Captain Finch says we will reach New York Tuesday. But if they don’t quit turning the clock back half an hour a day we’ll never get there.
Sunday, September 30. At Sea.
The doctor preached, but disappointed a large congregation with a regular sermon.
After we had sung God Save the King and America, I came to my stateroom to work and immediately broke the carriage cord on my typewriter. I said one or two of the words I had just heard in church; then borrowed a screw driver from Ring Once and proceeded to dilacerate the machine. It took over an hour to get it all apart and about two hours to decide that I couldn’t begin to put it together again.
I went on deck and told my troubles to Mr. Hollister of Chicago. Mr. Hollister was sympathetic and a life-saver. He introduced me to a young man, named after the beer that made Fort Wayne famous, who is a master mechanic in the employ of the Duke of Detroit. The young man said he had had no experience with typewriters, but it was one of his greatest delights to tinker. I gave him leave to gratify his perverted taste and, believe it or not, in forty minutes he had the thing running, with a piece of common binding twine pinch-hitting for the cord. Then I went entirely off my head and bought him wine.
Monday, October 1. Nearly There.
It’s midnight. An hour ago we went on deck and saw the prettiest sight in the world—an American lighthouse. First we felt like choking; then like joking. Three of us—Mr. and Mrs. P. Williams and I—became extremely facetious.
“Well,” said Mrs. Williams, “there’s ‘’Tis of Thee.’”
“Yes,” said her husband, “that certainly is old ‘O Say.’”