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246 more because my expected seasickness was never realized.

To have seen us all in the saloon on the first night was in itself an entertainment. We were all very stiff, and suspicious, and unfriendly, being mostly English, and took our places at the table under protest as it were. We were soon supplied with passenger lists, and before attempting to nourish our bodies we fed our curiosity by wondering "who was who," and trying to "locate" the different passengers.

There were at least a score whose identity we soon discovered. They belonged to that class which an American on board declared to be composed of "chronic kickers—gentlemen who, if they went to Heaven, would vow their halo's didn't fit." They found that their names had been spelled wrong, and complained loudly:

"I made a point of spelling S-m-y-t-h-e and here they have me down as Smith."

"I call it disgusting. They've made me John P. Bodley, when I distinctly remember telling them my name was J. Porterhouse Bodley."

"Oh, Mamma, they've never mentioned Jane.