The news is received by wireless from both sides of the ocean. To-day’s dispatches from Washington fairly made our hair stand on end. One of them said: “The decision of the milk dealers here that they would not pay more than thirty-two cents per gallon for milk after October one was met by a counter-proposal on the part of the Maryland and Virginia Milk Producers’ Association last night with an offer to fix the price at thirty-three and one-half cents per gallon instead of at thirty-five cents as originally planned.” Another informed us that Brigadier-General Somebody, for three years assistant to the Major-General Commandant at the Marine Corps Headquarters, had been ordered to command the Marine Cantonment at Somewhere, Virginia. A person who fails to get a thrill out of that must be a cold fish. But I can’t help wishing they’d let us know when and where the world series is to start. It is announced that Doc Cook will preach at the ship’s service Sunday morning. His text, no doubt, will be “Twenty Yards from the German Trenches.” _Saturday, September 29. At Sea._ Captain Finch says we will reach New York Tuesday. But if they don’t quit turning the clock back half an hour a day we’ll never get there. _Sunday, September 30. At Sea._ The doctor preached, but disappointed a large congregation with a regular sermon. After we had sung _God Save the King_ and _America_, I came to my stateroom to work and immediately broke the carriage cord on my typewriter. I said one or two of the words I had just heard in church; then borrowed a screw driver from Ring Once and proceeded to dilacerate the machine. It took over an hour to get it all apart and about two hours to decide that I couldn’t begin to put it together again. I went on deck and told my troubles to Mr. Hollister of Chicago. Mr. Hollister was sympathetic and a life-saver. He introduced me to a young man, named after the beer that made Fort Wayne famous, who is a master mechanic in the employ of the Duke of Detroit. The young man said he had had no experience with typewriters, but it was one of his greatest delights to tinker. I gave him leave to gratify his perverted taste and, believe it or not, in forty minutes he had the thing running, with a piece of common binding twine pinch-hitting for the cord. Then I went entirely off my head and bought him wine. _Monday, October 1. Nearly There._ It’s midnight. An hour ago we went on deck and saw the prettiest sight in the world--an American lighthouse. First we felt like choking; then like joking. Three of us--Mr. and Mrs. P. Williams and I--became extremely facetious. “Well,” said Mrs. Williams, “there’s ‘’Tis of Thee.’” “Yes,” said her husband, “that certainly is old ‘O Say.’” I’ve forgotten what I said, but it was just as good.