9

"What's that over there?" asked Marsh. "Staten Island?"

"No, dear," said Morgan. "We've passed Staten Island - or
I think we have."

Two speed-boats were following us out, darting here and there
about the ship like gad-flies about a charger. The water was
choppy, a bit too rough for them. Still they persisted.

"Wonder if they expect a hand-out?" asked Morgan, with his
ready smile. "They'll have to keep up with us to the three, or
is it the twelve mile limit?"

"Which reminds me," I said. "At 5:30 we drink to Doug!"

"So we do!" they both exclaimed. She forgot to doubt me.

"When do we have lunch?" she asked.

"About twelve, I guess."

"Do we have to -"

"No," I answered. "No special seats for the first meal. This
afternoon we'll have to stand in line. I suppose we want second
service?"

"Will you sit with us?" she quickly questioned, again flash-
ing that queer little look of doubt at me.

"Certainly, my dear," Morgan spoke up, giving me the impress-
ion he knew her reservations and had already discussed the
matter with her.

As we chatted along I saw Marsh swaying between accepting
and rejecting me. At one time she would show a spontaneous,
somewhat whimsical but very genuine liking. At another she
would sort of screw up her nose and eyes and give me that

11

notion. I did. When I had worked it enough, with Marsh half-
believing what I said, I turned about and claimed that in fact
I was a Yukon man. I could elaborate this notion because I had
just seen a travel picture of the Yukon district. I went to great
lengths, telling of Doug's and my exploits in the forzen north.
I was going so well that I even built up a myth similar to the
logging tales of John Bunyan. It was quite a triumph. It took
hold of Marsh's fancy and aroused her, even though she did not
believe a word I said. To her I was more than ever a puzzle; and
she was more than ever bent on getting the truth from me.

Thus, the more extreme our fun became, the more tense and
serious the situation grew.

Doug was supplementing me and playing his part like a season-
ed romancer.

The point came where I had to make an abrupt transition and
strike the serious note. I hit it with a full charge of the
energies aroused in us.

I told her simply that I was an American. She must have felt
I was no longer joking; but she wouldn't believe it. She wouldn't
believe I was an American. She said she had never seen any Ameri-
can who looked like me, who talked like me, who had such fantast-
ic ideas. Not if I produced my birth certificate would she
believe I was an American.

Coming as it did on the trail of so much fiction, I couldn't
blame her doubting. Yet, having made a true statement, I was
obliged to enforce and establish it apart from the false. So I

14

conditions in America. I took up both positive and negative features, going to some lengths and with more than usual intensity. Doug also chimed in. The girls were both depressed and stimulated.

Add to the above the fact that Doug that very evening stayed on with Marsh and, as I thought he would, told her more about me including the Negro and Indian bloods, and you will see ample reason why she was disturbed.

Besides, she was aware that Morgan regarded me as one of the most interesting men he had ever met. How could she know but what I would absorb too much of his time on ship-board? Would they not be on a sort of honey-moon? And here this strange incalculable figure, sprung suddenly on them, was looming up!

These impressions went through my mind as the three of us stood on the stern deck, seeing the last of America, speaking of amusing but unimportant things.

I found my eyes searching Marsh. She sensed my look, lifted her face and, in a pert engaging way, asked, "What are you looking at me for?" Then she smiled.

"Just thinking," I told her.

"My head's too frowsy to think anything," she confessed. "We were up till four this morning. Sorry you didn't come. We had a good party." She looked at Morgan and poked him. "Nothing hurts him. He's as good as if he hadn't touched a cocktail. He thinks

16

I mounted a narrow flight of steps and found myself on the
fore projection of the boat-deck, directly under the bridge, as
near the bridge as passagers are allowed to go.

When alone, this too was a place I loved on ships.

Before and below me was the fore part of the vessel, with
its hatches, deck-machines, hoists, masts, and the deck space
of the tourist third class. Far away in front and to either
side were the great wide waters of the Atlantic, glittering
blue-green beneath the open sun. They seemed at once restless
and forever resposed. Whisps of clouds were gathered near the
northern horizon. Space everwhere. Time and events had no place
in this world.

Gazing out as sea-men will, apparently at nothing, in reality
at something vast and far more satisfying than any sight on land,
I began experiencing a re-birth of my inexplicable affinity for
the sea.

Nothing moved me as it did. Nothing gave me so firm an assurance it was my element. Nothing evoked this way my sense of mastery over a legitimate domain. I felt I understood each wave, just how it would act, its density and motion; the meaning of the sea; the very soul of the entire ocean.

What was the origin of this attachment? How explain this
deep quiet passion, this profound unlearned familiarity? So far
as I knew, not one of my family had followed the sea, or even
lived near it. They were inland people. Nor had I been in sufficiently close and prolonged contact with it to have built up
so native a love and knowledge. Yet, here I was, a liberated

21

"Here's to her!" I offered. "May she sail well!"

A sudden spark lept between the three of us. We gazed at each other with swift joy.

"Here's to her!" said Morgan. "May she sail well!"

"Sial well!" exclaimed Marsh, with a delightful upward toss of her head.

We drank to the S.S. Burgundy!

my
A happy spirit seized me and, swaying hand, I improvised lines
and melody as I went along:

A ship left port,
Of the rollicking sort,
And sailed away for France;
She left New York,
And popped a cork
Over the shining waters.

Lowering our voices so as not to be too conspicuous the first
day out, we leaned together and xupxuxst repeated the song, with
variations.

It, with the cocktails, wound us in a feeling of warm comrad-
erie. And too, it gave us to feel that the passage, a unique
experience, full of promise, had really begun. We smiled and
laughed. We congratulated ourselves. Here we were. Our ties to
the past, to land, and to New York were cut, releasing us to
vivid participation in the present. Though restraining our-
selves, we revelled in it. Morgan told us stories. Here we were!
The future did not count. It had no existence beyond the eight

22

days of this world's life. This was the first day out!

The business of dinner interrupted our fun; but, in a reduced
key our high spirits were resumed when we returned to the smok-
ing-room for coffee and liqueurs.

Marsh was regarding me, her expression at once whimsical
and impudent.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I am going to keep my eye on you," she said, nodding know-
ingly.

"Why?"

"I just am."

"You'll be kept busy," Morgan prophesized.

"Not this trip," I replied. "You should have been along with
me in young days. Several years ago - what am I talking about?
- many years ago I was a candidate for ship's blade, the dashing
fellow who finds a pretty girl and has the ship's main love
affair. Once, ah yes Morgan, once I won the honors. After that,
I gave way to new champions. Now - I am an old man, with sober
attachments, seasoned to a career of a spectator. I'll sit
here in a corner of the smoking-room, drink whiskey and sodas,
and, from the side-lines, watch the life you young people revel
in."

"Not if I know you," Marsh averred.

"Do you?" I asked.

"I know that look in your eye," she said.

32

room was large and a rather nice place, not elaborately decorated, but done well. Its atmosphere, however, was stodgy. It was the ship's front parlor. Already it was drawing its clientele - parlor type of people who would spend most of their days in it rather than on deck or in the smoking-room. They were gathered in some numbers. Each had his chair. Each had her book, or magazine, or what not.

I saw a piano and walked towards it. It was in a far corner just under a window opening on the promenade deck. I lifted the cover and began playing chords. My back was to the window.

Of a sudden I heard a voice saying, "Please play something for us."

I swung around and saw my lady in blue with a younger girl smiling through the window. The younger girl had spoken. I was a little surprised to see my lady in just that position. I would have expected her to remain aloof even when approached. But as I caught her smile I understood that she was a good mixer.

"Won't you?" the younger girl asked, giving me a fetching glance.

"As if I were not playing now," I replied in mock rebuke.

"Oh, no!" she said, "I didn't mean that. The chords are beautiful, but we'd like to hear you play a long piece."

"Something in the grand style with great virtuosity?" I suggested.

They laughed. "If you wish."

37

dominant preferences and prejudices. Especially so if, as in the present case, the dominant color is different from their own. The dominant color in America is white. If the darker races are not brought into sharp contrast or conflict with it, it doesn't affect them much. Thus with the Indian who lives off to himself. But if a dark race is brought into contrast, as the Negro is, this race is likely to be compelled to wish to change its skin."

The younger girl said, "A white man in Africa wouldn't want to be black."

"Because, though in the minority, he is also dominant there - at least, he is not in sharp conflict with the blacks. His position there is relation to the blacks is not what the negro's in America is to the whites."

"We in America are frightfully conscious of color," said the lady in blue. I've often wondered why. The Germans and Scandinavians aren't conscious like we are of being white."

"I suppose," I replied, "because no large body of people of different color are present in their countries. In America, the white makes the black conscious of being black, and the black makes the white conscious of being white. We spend much of our time holding a mirror in some other person's face."

"Race prejudice is a strange thing," the lady in blue reflected. She seemed to have a HUMMERESE concrete case before her mind.

"I wonder if we can overcome it?"

I answered, "An individualized person is no longer subject to it."

52

would from x total strangers.

I glanced about the room where this process was actually
happening. Here were groups, or the marked beginnings of them.
Into which one would I fall? The Bradleys and myself were a
nucleus. Would we ever remain to ourselves? Would others
join us? If so, which ones from among the several hundred people
who made up this ship-world?

In any case, it was a fascinating study, this social behavior
of people on the sea. Evidently it was governed by definite
specific factors and general laws. Also, I had no doubt but
what it would take a very plastic person or one strongly individ-
ualized to be a law unto himself in these conditions. Indeed,
from past experience, I knew just this.

I asked myself, "On what basis do these groups form? Is it
a matter of affinity, of sympathy, of common interests, of
obvious or sensed correspondences?" Yes, I concluded, these are
influential factors, more so on ship-board than on land - provid-
ed that the ship's company is a live one.

Nationality, of course, was an obvious bond. The Americans
tended to hold together. The French, Italians, and so on,
This was natural, because the people of one country had more
things in common with their countrymen than with others. It was
unnatural only when the grouping was based, not on preference
for one's own, but on prejudice against foreign peoples. In this
latter case - and as I had often observed - the psychology of
ships was more rigidly provincial and stodgy than that of our

53

which worst small towns.

What would happen this passage on the Burgundy? Would we have
a week of Blue Sundays? Or, at the opposite pole, would we have
one of those rare and thrilling experiences to be had when the
i
entire ship comes together, when each person is quickened with
the sense that he is vividly participating in the total life of
a human world?

My opinion was divided. What I had seen that night inclined
me towards the making prospect of a week of Sundays. Some inner
sense or wish, the same feeling that had animated me when the
Burgundy left port, compelled me to believe in the possibility
of rich experience.

64

in America, by which I mean, create things of value to me. I can
build in America far more than in other countries. I feel I may
be able to contribute something of importance to it. In other
places I am, as it were, a parasite. I take, but give nothing,
comparatively nothing. Then again, I like Americans. I particul-
arly like a certain quality which is sometimes found in the upper-
classes. Americans who have this quality are, to my feelings,
just about the finest people I know."

"Yes, they are," she agreed. "But you find them in Paris."
Then her mind began working on the idea of taking, but not giv-
ing. With a trace of bitterness she said, "Everyone is selfish.
Everyone takes. Even if he gives, it is only to be able to take
more."

I had a sudden strong wish to oppose what she said felt, "No,"
I said, "not everyone."

"Yes, everyone," she held her ground.

I felt my temper rising, but I smiled and shrugged my shoulders

We were silent for a while. Shortly, however, the tension
passed and in an easier mood we began chatting amiably of America,
France, England. We compared cities. We mentioned the various
had
ships we had crossed on. She also liked the Burgundy, having
travelled on it twice before.

I told her she was a Burgundy type. She smiled and returned
the compliment, if such it was. I found that she too had felt
how slow things were, how unlike the characteristic Burgundy
passage.

66

observed myself in action sufficiently to have interpreted its
meaning.

"Thank you," she accepted, readily. "I would like."

And so it rested.

I found myself striding down the deck, for some reason or
other intent on locating the Bradleys. A voice called my name.
I turned and saw Mrs Raymond smiling to me from a deck-chair.

"Won't you come here a minute?" she asked. "I want to introduce you to someone."

Being inexplicably intent on finding the Bradleys, I wasn't
at all interested in the someone; but I stepped over, my sight
and mind elsewhere, and politely went through the introduction.

"Mrs Geraldy -" Mrs Raymond was introducing us. I vaguely
noticed a rather lovely soft face with nice brown eyes and smiling lips.

"I am glad to meet you, Mrs Geraldy," I responded, and promptly forgot her name. "It has been fine weather, hasn't it? A bit hot, but that will pass once we're out of the Gulf Stream - if we are not already out of it."

Mrs Geraldy said something I do not remember. Mrs Raymond did
the best she could. And then, after another meaningless polite
flow of words - "I'm sorry. You will pardon me. The Bradleys are
expecting me. Very glad to have met you -" and I smiled and bowed without seeing Mrs Geraldy.

"Hello!" I said to Morgan. "I seem to have been looking for

80

thing more. I am naturally interested in people, and do a bit
of observing on my own. It's part of my business. I have to know
men and judge them quickly. But I find myself doing it all the
time, as a sort of hobby."

"There's your partner," Marsh told him, indicating me. "Ad-
olphe is an amateur psychologist."

Tilden and I mock-bowed to each other.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, more seriously. "What's your idea on what happens to people - what happens to them when they get together on these ships? Take the present case as an example. But before you do, let me note one interesting thing about this ship. Here you have America. She's all here. All the nationalities. All the classes. Look at the names on the passenger-list. Names from every country on earth. Here you have us in a nut-shell."

"It is so," I said, glad to hear my own idea also his. He
saw I was pleased, and we began warming to each other.

He went on, "Someday I'd like to write about it. I did a bit
of writing in college. Edited the magazine. I thought I'd go in
for it as a career. Two things decided me against it. First, I
wanted to write from a full experience - if you know what I mean.
I wanted to see life, I wanted to have my fill of it - and then
write. So many would-be writers try to tell you about things
they've never experienced. They may have pretty words. They have
no substance. They don't appeal to me. I want to feel that the
man knows from experience what he's writing about. Well, this

83

ness in particular, its problems and promises. I asked questions and he answered them.

This was his world; and as he spoke enthusiastically of it I could see it taking life and form from his standpoint. It was a thing of force, of sweep, viewing no less than the entire earth as its legitimate province. And, granting its basic assumptions, all the rest fit together and moved forward with such cogency, with such triumph, that even the most skeptical must have been convinced of its great value.

Tilden did not know that I had my own well-considered reservations, not as to business itself, but as to business over-running all fields of life and imposing its methods and aims on, for example, education, the professions, art, and science. It was not necessary that I introduce this view. We were not exchanging opinions and criticisms of contemporary life; we were conveying parts of ourselves, he more than I. What he gave me of himself won my admiration.

I felt he was a vivid and able person, exceptionally talented in his field; a man who, while still comparatively young- I suppose he was in his late thirties - had pretty well mastered his materials; and who, without over-assertion or conceit, was full of zest for and self-confidence in the field of his success.

If Tilden thought well of Tilden, he had reason to. He gave weight to the statement that most of America's talents are to be found not in the arts but in business. If he was enthusiastic about commerce it was because his energy and skill took delight

85

for form, Tilden for content, I pointing out that both were
necessary and hence of equal importance.

for
Soon afterwards, Marsh and Mrs Tilden came up, ready, the
bridge game which had been previously scheduled for this after-
noon. As the fifth party, I thought I'd stretch myself rather
than look on. Before I left, Mrs Tilden asked me to have cock-
tails with them that evening. I accepted and went off.

89

the atmosphere and were reluctant to leave it.

I myself felt that we had a definite general life for the
first time during the trip.

"Well," I said, smiling to Morgan, "we begin to have it. Last
night, everyone cleared out at the first stroke of the gong. To-
night, no one wants to make the first move and break the spell.
It is not quite that good, but approaching it."

"I feel it," Mrs Tilden affirmed, her face glowing.

"Are these your wolves?" asked Marsh. "I'm beginning to like
the room," she added. "I'm beginning to feel at home. But I just
wanted to know if I'm in a den of wolves."

"You are," I said. "Not wild wolves. Not caged ones. But the
division has been made. These are the patrons of the smoking-
room."

I had a question to ask Edith so I sought her place. She was
already at dinner. Opposite her sat the man who was, as it were,
my rival. Bending over I whispered to her, "Liqueurs after
dinner?"

"All right," she whispered reply.

As I straightened I caught a squinting glance from my rival.

"Now what have you been doing?" asked Marsh when I took my
chair at our table.

"Sharpening my appetite," I replied.

She gave me a reproving look.

We bantered and joshed each other. Morgan engaged the Ray-

101

All our days thus far had been bright and warm, dry or muggy
according to the winds, with fine or swelling seas. As the French
would phrase our winds and weather: Jolie brise, mer belle.

This day was like the others.

For me, however, it was in a sense a broken day. I did a
number of things, but none of them had any noticeable relation-
ship to the others, or to the moving sum of my ship-life. Of
course they were *exactly* related; only to me they seemed otherwise

In the morning I went to the writing-room and made notes of
my observations of life on ocean liners. I merely wrote a few
brief fragments. Opposite me at the next table the pretty girl,
Carter's friend, was writing letters. She wore a canary-yellow
sport suit, blue helmet hat, and looked prettier than ever. We
did not speak.

Then I mounted the steps to my favorite spot beneath the
bridge. As I alternately gazed down at the sea and let my eyes
expand to far horizons I recalled my experiences with Edith and
pondered them.

What did we mean to each other? This certainly was not a
love affair, whatever our mutual liking and admiration. It was
more of an companionship. We had pleasure drinking and dancing.
We had interesting conversation. More than this, we were beginn-
ing to think together, to examine certain aspects of life, to
understand them better because of our exchanges. I could give her
ideas. She could present to me the challenge of a human being who
is trying intelligently to solve a difficult problem.

114

out before I awoke. One was French. The other Italian. The Frenchman was a fine fellow who always laughed at himself for being late for meals. The Italian was a singer. I urged him to sing for us sometime in the smoking-room.

I played shuffle-board with Tilden and improved a bit.

I heard from Marsh the belated news that there was a baron on board.

I did business with the purser.

I sent a radio to friends in Antibes, telling them to expect me the coming Tuesday. It was fairly certain we would reach France - Havre - Monday morning. I was going straight through Paris.

In short, I put my ship in order. So that, when I entered the smoking-room for cocktails I was, if you will, an efficient person.

Neither Edith nor the Bradleys nor the Tildens were in sight. But there, at a table for four, were the Browns and Mrs Geraldy. They beckoned me over.

"Do you know Mrs Geraldy?" they asked.

"We have met, thank you," we replied at the same time, smiling to each other. She sat there quietly, even patiently.

I remarked to myself, "She is a lovely person."

I went on further because the Browns were asking us if we wouldn't have cocktails.

"No, thank you, thank you," we answered, for it seemed we both had previous engagements and were in the same similar position of

128

ing that she was a wife and mother? But surely she could have
remembered this much better at home. Why the trip to Europe -
alone? Or was she with someone? Of course, it might simply be
a vacation and nothing more.

In fine, before the conversations ended and the group sep-
arated Miriam Geraldy had become defined inxxx as a woman with
possible more than usual relation to my life.

She towards myself? She revealed nothing special. I could
only put two and two together and believe she was not indiff-
erent.

But it is strange, I concluded, that till now I haven't
really noticed her. Where has my sight been?

134

of our party.

We filed through the white-panelled passage-way, bumping
against the sides, filling it with the sounds of our irregularly
tripping feet and merrily raised voices.

On entering the dining-room we separated and went to our
various tables. It looked as if some large hand, playing a
game, had thrown us into the room so that we scattered, rolled
down the different aisles and finally settled in our places
like balls in pockets.

I made my way to Edith's table and bent over to whisper my
invitation for liqueurs. But she, knowing what I would say,
whispered before I did.

"I can't," she said. "I'll tell you why, later. You will
understand."

"All right," I answered, slightly flushing. Her refusal
touched me. Moreover, in that bent position, delightfully
intimate if things are right, but stiff and awkward if they
are wrong, I caught my erstwhile rival not squinting but smirking
at me.

I withdrew as best I could.

As I was on my way to join our party in the smokingroom I
saw Edith coming towards me along the passage-way. Neither of
us had expected to meet just then. I felt myself contract.
This passed, and we both stopped.

"I want to explain," she said quickly, for each of us appear-

138

with one bare shoulder luring the world. There was a Lon Chaney.
A chimney-sweep. A Spanish grandee. A pasha. A bar-maid. A
Charlie Chaplin. An admiral. A bull-fighter. And many more you
couldn't be sure what they were.

To the music of a transformed orchestra we marched about x
the ship, through the smoking-room, out, around, and back before
the judges. Those in line who had friends at the tables received
vigorous applause. Our party clapped and clapped for the Brad-
leys, Alice, and myself.

The judges announced the prizes. First prize to the blonde
beauty. Second to the bar-maid. Third to the chimney-sweep.
Applause!

Some unmasked. Some did not.

Then we danced, I with Alice. Everybody danced, those in cos-
tumes and those not. It seemed the crowd would push the walls
back.

And this, I said to myself, is the same floor, these are
the same people whom you couldn't get to dance the first two
nights.

After the first round we entered the hilarious smoking-room,
now indeed Montmartre, and, to a great hullabaloo, rejoined our
party. Drinks were quickly offered us.

The stewards were giving out red paper tape, rattles, whistles,
confetti, paper balls.

The rattles rattled. The whistles blew. Tape began flying and
crossing all over the room. Confetti was showered on everyone.

140

The minute our bodies touched I felt delight. Hers was supple
and seemed at once to know my rhythm. She knew just where to
place her head. Her hair was fragrant. We said very little, but
danced and danced.

Carter and his girl were also on the floor, a perfect couple.
He had a way of talking to her. Everything he said amused or
tickled and pleased her. Whenever we passed near them, he and I
would smile, and as if our eyes met there would flash bet-
ween us the sort of communication which men who instinctively lik
each other sometimes exchange on a dance-floor when they are
with just the girls they want to be with.

Miriam had left our table with me. We returned to it.

I varied partners. The entire place was expansive: people
passed from table to table. I danced with the blonde beauty. I
danced with a stately brunette.

Both these women, by the way, had provoked comments from the
women of our party. Some thought them attractive, beautiful, and
all the rest; some thought them decidedly not. They were not
exactly picked to pieces; but they were examined with the precise
care which women are wont to bestow upon others of their sex.

Several men outside our group danced with Miriam. One of these
was the young fellow I had often seen playing checkers.

When I danced with Miriam again I asked her, "Who is the
young fellow? I've seen him at checkers. I've seen him dance
with you. That's all. He's a nice looking chap. I shouldn't
think he'd have difficulty finding himself a girl."

141

She smiled and answered, "He is engaged. His fiancée accompanied him to the boat and for some reason decided that I was a girl he could dance with. She picked me as a nice safe girl."

"Well!" I exclaimed. "I have no doubt but what she was right - as to you. However, I haven't the slightest desire to see you make the passage safe for him. Let someone else win his fiancée's gratitude."

I made this emphatic by holding her closer.

She had some gossip for me. "It is getting exciting," she began.

"So it is," I agreed. "How, specially?"

"Mrs Tilden received a love note."

"No!" I exclaimed.

"She did. It asked her to be at a certain place at a certain time. Urgent!"

"Well, well! Has she any idea who wrote it?"

"Yes, she has," said Miriam. "She has noticed his attentions. He has never stepped forward before."

"Well," I said, "now or never. If the Bal Masque can't effect it, nothing will. He at least knows how to pick his time. Is she going?"

"I don't think so. I don't know."

"Do I know him?" I asked.

"He's on the floor now."

I glanced around but saw no one whom I thought might fill the bill. I took a guess.

"Not the baron?"

She nodded.

144

"Perhaps," I said. "It depends."

"On what?" she asked.

"On you. On your relation to your husband. On myself. On the kind of relationship that exists between us."

"Once before," she said, and then began telling me of a yacht trip she had taken from Boston to Prince Edwards Island, during which she had come to know a man whom she liked quite well.

"Did it present a problem?" I asked.

"No," she said, "that was the surprising thing. I liked him. I continued loving my husband."

"Remember what Shelley wrote?" I asked, and then quoted, "Love in this differs from gold and clay, that to divide is not to take away."

"But I did not divide," she said. "I had two distinct feelings. I had one when I left Boston. I continued having it. I found another on the trip. The two of them lived together without conflict." She was evidently pleased with herself.

"That was a bit unusual," I answered, sensing that there was truth in what she said, and almost wondering if in truth she did have something of the artist in her. "Feelings of those kinds, in most people, usually tussle with each other."

"Mine did not," she replied, looking at me smiling with her lovely dark eyes.

"So, Good," I said, myself also feeling light and glad.

Then I asked, "Did you love the other man?"

"In a way, yes. Yes I did."

147

I said, "So quiet, even patient you are, or were. Yea, and you
have just sweet witchery."

Soft rippling laughter responded to me.

"And you," her voice rolled, "why can't I leave you?"

I quickly kissed her and went to my cabin.

151

to whisper. I bided my time, and then, turning so that my words
would almost touch her ear, I spoke with lowered voice, "Miriam,
come closer, I want to tell you something."

A slight movement of her head brought her lovely brown eyes
quite near mine. "Close enough?" she asked with a happy laughing
smile.

"No, closer," I said. "You are lovely, sweet, dear -"

She gave a rippling laugh and turned away. Tilden and Burton
also laughed, not because they had heard but because in her
feeling as much infusek and expression stimulated them.

"No, no," I said. "Come here again."

When she was close enough I whispered, "Will you have cock-
tails with me tonight, and then, after dinner, liqueurs?"

She gave me a swift bright smile and nodded.

"Now," I said, "continue, if you will, your discussion of
books, business, Paris, and passports."

As I dressed for dinner my mood was singing. Rhythms packed
my ears. Snatches of song ran through me. And, as often
happens when my feelings are stirred, bits of song, my own,
sprang into being spontaneously. I hummed them as they formed.

At the same time, more or less, I carried on a rapid-fire
banter with my cabin-mates. The young Frenchman, dinking first
service, was as usual late. His gong had rung half an hour ago.
He kidding himself and I helped him. His hair, it seemed, needed
brushing, combing, parting, over and over again.

158

Contact

XVII

The smoking-room was happily relaxed, everyone at ease, talking and laughing as one does with companions of long standing. It was, if you will, a club. Its members had been chosen, and though intimate contact was reserved for those of one's own small group, each person accepted all the others with the feeling that they belonged there.

Even if you did not like him you recognized his membership. Thus, for instance, I was not particularly fond of Mr Forward Face, of his wild young thing, of Mr Squinter, of Mr Rooster; yet I felt they fitted in.

Nor did I especially care to have Burton looking our way, as though at any minute he might come over and ask Miriam for a dance.

There was, however, no continuation of the riotous spirit of the Bal Masque. This was the night after, and we felt pleasantly left down. One drank less. One was not so keen to dance. Indeed it was like a quiet night at home, the previous evening having been spent at an all-night party.

So our group felt. The only new happening concerned the baron. As he was passing our table Morgan detained him and introduced him to us. His manners were European. His English was good, with but slight accent. He remained to chat for a short while and then withdrew. I judged he had since learned that Alice had a husband and children. He seemed to be still

173

A thrill swept through me as I said, "You darling!"

She suggested, "Let's go on deck. We can talk better there."

As I was mounting the steps with a coat over my arm who should
I see descending but Morgan and Marsh. They saw, of course, that
I was going on deck. They knew with whom. They soundly kidding
me. As we parted Marsh's last words were, "I admire your taste.
I'm betting on you."

180

seas, with the prospect of several months in Europe. These are conditions in which to let the corresponding wish live. At home, you cannot possibly experience this. Therefore, do not work yourself up about it. Here, you cannot possibly experience home. So do not work yourself up about it. Each one at the appropriate time and place. This will prevent the wishes conflicting. You should not have conflicts. Everybody, anyone at all high-strung, has them. They are *unfair* worthless. They are harmful and wasteful. Conflicts are, so to speak, cheap. The world is full of them. Few people experience true tensions, true oppositions. What could and should serve as tensions, what should be strong oppositions, usually degenerated into conflicts - merely because we lack the intelligence to up-grade them and make them fruitful. You understand the difference between a tension and a conflict?"

She was regarding me questioningly. So I tried to illustrate the matter by using my hands and fingers, first, opposing them with purpose, second, making them conflict to no purpose. It was a crude illustration, but it seemed to help convey the distinction.

"In general," I continued, "a conflict renders you helpless and bleeds you, leaving you all nerves or limp as a rag. A true opposition, on the contrary, energizes you, gives you backbone, spiritual backbone, and increases your ability."

She nodded.

184

night. She pressed closer against me. Her voice quivered.

"Don't, don't, my dear, say that. I don't want to leave you.
I can't bear it."

Her arms tightened around me. I held her so, silently, for
what seemed a long while.

Then, very low, her voice asked, "Will you go straight
through?"

"I think so, Miriam. Straight through."

Slowly she disengaged herself, without looking at me. Slowly
she stood up, walked across the deck and stood leaning against
the rail, her face to the night.

I let her remain so.

Then I went over beside her. Without turning her face she
slipped her arm in mine and hugged it.

"Look, my dear," I said. "See those streaks of grey? The
clouds are parting. We may have sun tomorrow."

Her low voice rolled the words almost as in song, "Sun...
clouds... then sun again, to end with sun."

Quickly, with a rising laugh and sparkling eyes she turned
and kissed me.

192

said, and made a gesture which meant your little romance was quite ended.

He stated this a matter of fact; but behind his words I sensed a question. He wished, I thought, to draw from me my attitude towards Miriam. He was friendly. He was a good fellow. But part of him was rather strict and <u>untolerable</u> not approving of extra-marital relationships.

"Quite so," I replied, also as a matter of fact. Then, however, I added in a changed tone, "These ships, Howard, are like butterflies. For a day they spread their golden wings, and then, having had their time of beauty, they flutter and end with sun. There are no complications. Nothing is violated. There are no carryovers. Somewhere in one's heart they continue living among private memories."

My words, the surprising feeling I had put in them, must have touched some corresponding experience of his own, for he failed to express the satisfaction my attitude must have given him; instead, his blue eyes filled with a warm clear light, and, without speaking, he placed his hand on my arm in sympathy, in comradeship.

199

# Stars Have Eyes

## XXI

I was in a bath of hot sea-water which felt good.

The white walls of the room were sufficiently near each other to give my voice a rich strong timbre. I was singing along merrily, and, at the same time, hurrying to finish. Morgan was treating to cocktails. I wished to enjoy my full share, even though Miriam would be far away, that is, across the room with Norton.

Suddenly, a swift transition occurred. I passed from joy to sorrow and heard a strange new melody surging up from that ache in my heart. It formed my lips and sang to Miriam. Over and over it sang itself. It followed me down the passage-way to my cabin. As I dressed, words fitted themselves to it.

I sang:

When the moon has passed,
And night, like velvet,
Descends on vast plains
And sleeping houses;
When the stars have sped,
And their rays are blended
With eternal darkness,
I stand alone,
There is only one my own,
Miriam...

213

him for a plus ten.'"

"You know," said the baron, laughing heartily, "you know
the joke of the preacher and the cows. 'I thank thee, dear God,'
he prayed - he was walking in a pasture - 'I thank thee, dear
God, that cows do not fly like sparrows.'"

We laughed.

Marsh shouted at us, "What are you men keeping to yourselves?"

"Pray that we keep it," said Morgan, who had just escaped
being hit.

Under hazzards the game continued. There were no further
scores for the gulls, but the deck around us continued giving
evidence of their sportsmanship.

The Tildens won. Brown and the baron took them on.

Miriam, saying she must pack before dinner, left with Mrs
Brown.

The Bradleys and I chatted, watched the game, and now and again gave advice from the side-lines.

The late afternoon had turned golden mellow; and I, rather
than miss the slope to sunset, had remained on deck some while
after the others had done down.

I would delay packing till night.

I was walking about, thinking not much of anything, amusing
myself with occasional views of the small ships we were now more
frequently passing: colliers flying the British flag, or with
no flag, and once, a very smart white yacht.

215

And then, having had this contact, we parted naturally,
she continuing her stroll and I, after a another glimpse of the
ship sailing over shining waters, going down to my cabin.

I knew I had unconsciously remained on deck for this meeting.

225

I continued gazing at the night. Then, vividly, I caught a picture of myself standing there on the deck beneath the bridge. I saw myself, the entire ship, the waters, the stars, the wake far back across the Atlantic; and before I knew it I was humming. The melody was similar to that of my song for Miriam. The words were somewhat different.

When the sun leaves dusk
On far horizons,
And night envelopes
Empty seas
And fading dream-ships;
When the stars have eyes,
And their light blends
With darkness,
I stand alone,
Salute and pass
Proud shadows.