I seemed to see Jane Sterling with a gaunt face, hooked nose, and grizzled hair, though I admitted to myself that she might be a fragile, porcelain-like little old maid.
This conflict of possibilities impelled me to go to my stateroom and make Jane Sterlings acquaintance, and, incidentally, put away my best hat.
So I started, and on my way received another of my first impressions.
This was a remarkable feeling of at-homeness on the steamer. I had never been on an ocean liner before, yet I felt as though I had lived on one for years. The balancing of myself on the swaying stairs seemed to come naturally to me, and I felt that I should have missed the peculiar atmosphere of the dining-saloon had it not assailed my senses.
As I entered Stateroom D, I found Jane Sterling already there. But as the physical reality was so different from the lady of my imagination, I sat down on the edge of my white-spread berth and stared at her.
Sitting on the edge of the opposite berth, and staring back at me, was a small child with big eyes. She wore a stiff little frock of white piqué, and her brown hair was bobbed and tied up with an enormous white bow. Her brown eyes had a solemn gaze, and her little hands were clasped in her lap.
It was quite needless to ask her name, for Jane Sterling was plainly and unmistakably written all over her, and I marvelled that the name hadnt told me at once what she looked like.
How old are you, Jane? I asked.
Seven, she replied, with a little sigh, as of the weight of years.
Her voice satisfied me. She was one of those unusual children, whom some speak of as queer, and others call old-fashioned.
But they are neither. They are distinctly a modern variety, and their unusualness lies in the fact that they have a sense of humor.
And is this your first trip abroad? I went on.
No, my seventh, said Jane, with a delicious little matter-of-fact air.
Indeed! Well, this is the first time I have crossed, so I trust you will take pity on my ignorance, and instruct me as to what I should do.
I said this with an intent to be sociable, and make, the child feel at ease, but no such effort was necessary.
There is nothing to do diffelunt, she said, with a bewitching smile. You just do what you would in your own house.
It was the first really good advice I had had concerning my steamer manners, and I put it away among my other first impressions for future use.
Then Janes mother appeared, and I learned that she occupied the next stateroom, and that she hoped Jane would not annoy me, and that she was glad I liked children, and that she had three, and that they crossed every year, and that if I wanted anything at all I was to ask her for it. Then she put a few polite questions to me, and duly envied me my first impressions, and returned to her other babies.
Jane proved a most delightful roommate, and, as she was never intrusive or troublesome, I felt that I had drawn a prize in the ships lottery.
The morning of the second day I rose with a determination to get to work. I had no intention of dawdling, and, moreover, I had much to do. In the first place, I wanted to get settled in my deck-chair, in that regulation bent-mummy position so often pictured in summer novels, and study my fellow-passengers. I had been told that nothing was so much fun as to study people on deck. Then I had many letters to write and many books to read. I wanted to learn how to compute the ships log, and how to talk casually of knots. After all these had been accomplished, I intended to plan out my itinerary for the summer. This I wanted to do after I was out of all danger of advice from friends at home and before I made the acquaintance of any one on board who might attempt to advise me.
So determined was I to plan my own trip that I would have been glad to get out on a desert island and wait there for the next steamer, rather than have any assistance in the matter of laying out my route.
Immediately after breakfast, therefore, arrayed in correct steamer costume, and carrying rug, pillow, paper-covered novel, veil, fur boa, and two magazines, I went to my deck-chair and prepared to camp out for the morning. As the deck steward was not about, I tried to arrange my much desired mummy effect myself. Technique seemed lacking in my efforts, and, slightly embarrassed at my inability to manage the refractory rug, I looked up to see Jane watching me.
You mustnt put the rug over you, she explained, in her kind little way. You must put yourself over the rug.
At her advice I got out of the chair, and she spread the rug smoothly in it.
Sit down, she said, briefly, and I obeyed.
Cleverly, then, she flung up the sides and tucked in the corners, until the rug swathed me in true seventeenth-trip fashion. Jane proceeded to arrange my pillow and the other odds and ends of comfort. She disapproved, however, of my reading-matter.
Magazines wont stay open, she observed, and paper books wont, eever.
Janes few mispronunciations were among her chiefest charms.
But it wont matter, she added cheerfully. You wont read, anyhow.
This reminded me that I had no intention of reading, being there for the purpose of studying my fellow-passengers.
I was still obsessed by that strange sensation of inanition.
Although beatifically serene and abnormally good-natured, I felt an utter aversion to exertion of any kind, mental, moral, or physical. Even the thought of studying my fellow-travellers seemed a task too arduous to contemplate.
And so I sat there all the morning and not a fellow-traveller was studied.
This wont do, I said to myself, severely, after luncheon. Here you are, not a hint of sea-sickness, the day is perfect, you know how to adjust your rug, and all conditions are favorable. You must study your fellow-travellers.
But the afternoon showed little improvement on the morning. As a result of desperate effort, I scrutinized one lady and decided to call her the Lady with the Green Bag.
It wasnt a very clever characterization, but it was, at least, founded on fact.
Another I conscientiously contemplated, and finally dubbed her the Lady Who Isnt an Actress. This was rather a negative description, but I based it on the neatness of her vanity-bag and the carelessness of her belt, and I am sure it was true.
The Clucking Mother was easily recognized, and a pink-cheeked and white-handed young man, who attempted to talk to me, I snubbed, and then to myself I designated him as Simple Simon.
I wasnt really rude to him, and I fully intended to make acquaintances among the passengers later on; but I am methodical, and after I had all my other tasks attended to, I hoped to have two or three days left for social intercourse.
But after a time the chair next mine was left vacant, and then a laughing young girl seated herself in it.
Apparently it didnt belong to her, and she sat down there with the express purpose of talking to me. My arduous study of my fellow-travellers had somewhat wearied me, and her sudden and uninvited appearance disturbed that serene calm which I had supposed unassailable, and so I angrily characterized her in my mind as a Bold-Faced Jig.
This name was so apt that it really pleased me, and I involuntarily smiled in appreciation of my appreciation of her.
So sympathetic was she (as I afterward discovered) that she smiled too, and then I couldnt, in common decency, be rude to her. She chatted away, and before I knew it I was charmed with her. I didnt change the name I had mentally bestowed on her, but, instead, I told her of it, and it delighted her beyond measure. I told her, too, how I intended to devote the next two days to planning my summer trip, then a day for writing letters, and after that I hoped to play bridge, or otherwise hobnob socially with certain people whom I had mentally selected for that purpose.
This name was so apt that it really pleased me, and I involuntarily smiled in appreciation of my appreciation of her.
So sympathetic was she (as I afterward discovered) that she smiled too, and then I couldnt, in common decency, be rude to her. She chatted away, and before I knew it I was charmed with her. I didnt change the name I had mentally bestowed on her, but, instead, I told her of it, and it delighted her beyond measure. I told her, too, how I intended to devote the next two days to planning my summer trip, then a day for writing letters, and after that I hoped to play bridge, or otherwise hobnob socially with certain people whom I had mentally selected for that purpose.
The Bold-Faced Jig laughed heartily at this.
Havent you any idea where youre going to travel? she asked.
Not the slightest.
Well, let me advise you
Oh, please dont! I cried. I left my planning until now in order to get away from all advisers. I must decide for myself. I know just what I want, and I cant bear to be interfered with.
The B. F. J. looked amazed at first, and then she laughed.
All right, she said. Now listen, Miss Emmins. I think youre delightful, and Im going to help you all I can by not advising you. But if youve not finished your itinerary plans in two days, maynt I tell you then what I was going to advise?
Yes, I said, with dignity and decision, if you will keep away from me for two days, and do all you can to keep others away.
She promised, and it was more of a task than it might seem, for as I sat in my deck-chair, or, oftener, at a table in the library, surrounded by Baedekers, time-tables, maps, guide-books, and Hares Walks in London, many of the socially inclined or curious-minded paused to make a tentative remark. My replies were so coolly polite that they rarely ventured on a second observation, but I soon discovered that my laughing friend had told her comrades what I was doing, and they awaited the result.
It is strange what trivialities will interest the idle minds of those who dawdle about in the library of an ocean steamer.
Jane would occasionally come and stand by me, saying wisely, Are you still making your itinnery?
When I said yes, she sighed and smiled and ran away, being desirous not to bother.
The first morning I engaged in this work, I read interestedly of picture-galleries and architectural specialties. That afternoon my interest waned, and I studied time-tables and statistical information. The next morning I grew sick of the whole performance and, bundling the books and maps away, I went out to my deck-chair, and idled away the hours in waking dreams that never were on sea or land.
That afternoon the Bold-Faced Jig approached me.
Its all over, I said. Ive capitulated. I make no plans while Im on this blessed ocean. Its wicked to do anything at all but to do nothing.
And dont you want my advice? she asked, laughing still.
I dont care, I answered. You can voice your advice if you choose. I shant listen to it, much less follow it.
Her girlish laughter rang out again. That was my advice, she said. I was going to tell you not to plan any trip while you are at sea. Just enjoy the days as they come and go; dont count them; dont do anything at all but just be.
Im not through yet, she went on. Dont write any letters or read any books. Dont study human nature, and of all things dont voluntarily make acquaintances. If they happen along, as I did, chat a bit if you choose, and when they pass on, forget them.
And so I took advice after all. I made no plans, I made no abstruse diagnoses of human character, I made no acquaintances save such as casually happened of themselves. And the days passed in a sort of rose-colored haze, as indefinite as a foggy sunrise, and as satisfying as a painted nocturne of Whistlers. And so, my first impressions of my first ocean crossing are indeed enviable.
III
In England Now!
The trip from Liverpool to London I found to be a green glimpse of England in the shape of a biograph. But the word green, as we say it in our haste, is utterly inadequate to apply to the color of the English landscape. Though of varying shades, it is always green to the nth power; it is a saturated solution of green; it is a green that sinks into the eye with a sensation of indelibility. And as this green flew by me, I watched it from the window of a car most disappointingly like our own Pullmans.
I had hoped for the humorous absurdities of the compartmented English trains. I had almost expected to see sitting opposite me a gentleman dressed in white paper, and I involuntarily watched for a guard who should look at me through a telescope, and say Youre travelling the wrong way.
For my most definite impressions of English railway carriages had been gained from my Alice, and I was annoyed to find myself booked for a large arm-chair seat in a parlor car, with my luggage checked to its London destination on the American plan!
What, pray, was the use of coming abroad, if one was to have all the comforts of home?
As if to add to the unsatisfactoriness of my first impressions of English travel, I found myself sitting opposite a young American woman.
We faced each other across a small table, covered with what seemed to be green baize, but was more likely the reflection of the insistent landscape.
The lady was one of those hopeless, helpless, newly rich, that affect so strongly the standing of Americans in Europe.
She was blatantly pretty, and began to talk at once, apparently quite oblivious of the self-evident fact that I wanted to absorb in silence that flying green, to which her own nature was evidently quite impervious.
Your first trip? she said, though I never knew how she guessed it. My! it must be quite an event in your life. Now its only an incident in mine.
You come often, then? said I, not specially interested.
Yes; that is, we shall come every summer now. You see, he made a lot of money in copper, thats my husband over there, the one with the plaid travelling-cap, so we can travel as much as we like. Weve planned a long trip for this year, and weve got to hustle, I can tell you. Im awfully systematic. Ive bought all the Baedekers, and this year Im going to see everything thats marked with a double star. You know those are the sights which should on no account be omitted. Then next year well do up the single stars, and after that we can take things more leisurely.
Youve never been over before, then? I observed.
No, she admitted, a little reluctantly; I went to California last year. I think Americans ought to see their own country first.
I couldnt help wishing she had chosen this year for her California trip, but the accumulation of green vision had somehow magicked me into a mood of cooing amiability, and I good-naturedly assisted her to prattle on, by offering an encouraging word now and then.
Hes so good to me, she said, nodding toward her husband. He says he welcomes the coming and speeds the parting dollar. Isnt that cute? Hes an awfully witty man.
She described the home he had just built for her in Chicago, and it seemed to be a sort of Liberal Arts Building set in the last scene of a comic opera.
For a moment, I left the green to itself, while I looked at my unrefractive countrywoman with an emotion evenly divided between pity and envy. For had she not reached the ultimate happiness, the apotheosis of content only possible to the wealthy Nitro-Bromide? And what was I that I should depreciate such soul-filling satisfaction? And why should my carping analysis dub it ignorance? Why, indeed!