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 for odd jobs, though a Greek, is also "Catholic." In Angora these derelicts are self-styled "Catholic Turks."

I have boarded the warship, despite the captain's fear of a woman's pen. What would he find to say about my real intentions? Most of us, happily, can look on sailors of all nations, as I do, absolutely without prejudice. For here, at least, none can capture our laurels, and all the world loves a British sailor.

Amidst the beautiful fittings of his luxurious cabin, I was received by the captain with every mark of the courtesy that is second nature to the real English gentleman. He was a naval man to his finger-tips, stamped all over with Nelson's magic call to "Duty." For his magnificent achievements in the war, his V.C. was indeed richly deserved; and yet, I wondered, is it the wisest policy to expose this real "personage" to the kind of actually trivial irregularities which in a town like Smyrna a too formal officialism may so easily mistake for grave affronts to our national prestige?

While in Smyrna I saw an example of such real dangers—a mere nothing that might suddenly have developed into a casus belli, though in this case any serious disaster was, luckily, averted.

The Turks had given the sailors from different warships special permission to land on the quay without the formality of going through the Custom House. Unfortunately, certain Armenian girls saw their chance to coax the sailormen into helping them to escape. I am told that the British were adamant to tales of woe that turned Americans, French, and Italians to putty; but I will not believe it, for I prefer to think our men had their share in defying the law to help women.

The Turkish authorities, however, were, naturally and properly, indignant at the deception, and gave orders that in future everyone should land at the Custom House. Most unfortunately, the order was immediately carried out, without a warning to the