I must say that the officer was very kind to me. For that matter, the luggage of a man who travels alone, without Madame and her _impedimenta_, is soon examined. Before leaving the ship, I went to shake hands with Captain Parsell, that experienced sailor whose bright, interesting conversation, added to the tempting delicacies provided by the cook, made many an hour pass right cheerily for those who, like myself, had the good fortune to sit at his table. I thanked him for all the kind attentions I had received at his hands. I should have liked to thank all the employees of the "White Star" line company. Their politeness is above all praise; their patience perfectly angelical. Ask them twenty times a day the most absurd questions, such as, "Will the sea soon calm down?" "Shall we get into harbor on Wednesday?" "Do you think we shall be in early enough to land in the evening?" and so on. You find them always ready with a kind and encouraging answer. "The barometer is going up and the sea is going down," or, "We are now doing our nineteen knots an hour." Is it true, or not? It satisfies you, at all events. In certain cases it is so sweet to be deceived! Better to be left to nurse a beloved illusion than have to give it up for a harsh reality that you are powerless against. Every one is grateful to those kind sailors and stewards for the little innocent fibs that they are willing to load their consciences with, in order that they may brighten your path across the ocean a little. * * * * * _Everett House. Noon._ [Illustration: CAPTAIN PARSELL, R. M. S. "MAJESTIC."] My baggage examined, I took a cab to go to the hotel. Three dollars for a mile and a half. A mere trifle. [Illustration: EVERY ONE HAS THE GRIPPE.] It was pouring with rain. New York on a Sunday is never very gay. To-day the city seemed to me horrible: dull, dirty, and dreary. It is not the fault of New York altogether. I have the spleen. A horribly stormy passage, the stomach upside down, the heart up in the throat, the thought that my dear ones are three thousand miles away, all these things help to make everything look black. It would have needed a radiant sun in one of those pure blue skies that North America is so rich in to make life look agreeable and New York passable to-day. In ten minutes cabby set me down at the Everett House. After having signed the register, I went and looked up my manager, whose bureau is on the ground floor of the hotel. The spectacle which awaited me was appalling. There sat the unhappy Major Pond in his office, his head bowed upon his chest, his arms hanging limp, the very picture of despair.