She isn't pretty and she isn't in the least smart, but she is just a
kind, sweet, wise woman. Her husband is a cheery soul, very big and
boyish and always in uproarious spirits. Captain Gordon makes a good
listener. Mr. Brand, although he must have left school quite ten years
ago, is still very reminiscent of Eton and has a school-boyish taste
in silly rhymes and riddles. Colonel Crawley, a stern and somewhat
awe-inspiring man, a distinguished soldier, I am told, hates
_passionately_ being asked riddles, and we make him frantic at table
repeating Mr. Brand's witticisms. He sits with a patient, disgusted
face while we repeat,
"Owen More had run away
Owin' more than he could pay;
Owen More came back one day
Owin' more";
and when he can bear it no longer leaves the table remarking
_Titbits_. He had his revenge the other day, when the ship was rolling
more than a little. We had ventured to the saloon for tea and were
surveying uncertainly some dry toast, when Colonel Crawley came in.
"Ah!" he said, "Steward! Pork chops for these ladies." The mere
thought proved the thing too much, we fled to the fresh air--tealess.
I meant this to be a very long letter, but this pen, faint yet
pursuing, shows signs of giving out. I have to shake it every second
word now.
The bugle has gone for lunch, and G. who has been sound asleep for the
last hour, is uncoiling herself preparatory to going down.
So good-bye.
_S.S. Scotia, Nov.
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