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Rh trickled sufficiently during the past few sad weeks.

"I am not," I persisted in declaring. "It is unseemly to go about with all one's unshed tears while everybody else is lavishly distributing them in all directions."

No sooner had the tender disappeared from sight, and our own anchor had been lifted (isn't that deliciously nautical? I flatter myself it is extremely creditable), than I saw sixteen people—I counted them—rush up to the Captain and ask him if it were going to be "rough." Poor man! I suppose he is overwhelmed in this manner at every trip.

He thought it was going to be one of the finest voyages he had ever made, he said, and the sixteen timid ones went their way rejoicing. It is the correct thing, nowadays, to be eternally and consistently blasé, as my dear mother would say, especially on one's travels. To speak of my transatlantic trip of course makes it at once apparent that I have never been to America before. I admit it, and must also confess that my voyage interested me immensely, and all the