and looks forty, but is brimming over with energy and enthusiasm. He
loves tragedies, and fires, and thrills and ought to have been a
novelist like the Baron Munchausen. I believe he is really a foreigner,
a Bromoseltzian by absorption, I have heard. He caused me some trouble
once, all over Jones' baby. Let me tell you the story as Eddy told it.
He himself believed it.
"Did you hear about poor Jones last night on his way to the big dinner?
Very sad! He is in an awful state over it all. One baby died this
morning and the mother doesn't expect the other to live through the day.
Joe told me about it. Gee! it is awful the way those kids run across the
road in front of cars. Jones tried to stop the car but he hadn't a
chance, and he hit the bigger child right on the neck and the child's
head bounced off and bruised Jones' nose. Gee! it's terrible."
We were all thrilled and very sorry for Jones. Now I know that to
sympathize with a man when by accident he has killed two children is the
worst possible form. Still being egotists, most of us, and regarding
ourselves as specialists in the issuing of the sympathy that heals, we
mostly fail. I resisted the temptation for a long time until Mr. Jones
passed through my office looking very sad. I looked for the bruise on
his nose, but it had healed. He stopped to chat, and I commenced to
sympathize, not mentioning any details. He didn't seem very worried and
I thought him hardhearted, so I went into more details and asked when
the child would be buried. Mr. Jones' eyes grew wide and he said: "What
the devil are you talking about?" I explained, and he roared. His
mud-guard had tipped the knee of a small boy, but very slightly, and he
expected to see him running about again in about two days.
Eddy has been to Russia and has had a very hectic time so we always
refer to him when the subject of Russia comes up. Russia must be _some_
place; and the women, _Ma foi!_
We are all very great friends and I like every one of them, especially
those who can speak English. It is awkward when we all talk at once,
especially if the more foreign have friends lunching with them. One day,
two Greeks yelled to one another across the table in Greek, a couple of
Russians seemed interested in the revolution, a Chilean spoke in a huge
voice in what he regarded as English, the Swede gurgled, the Americans
laughed, and I alone spoke English (sic.). Having mentioned this last
fact to the man from Missouri, in other words, the chief inspector of
the steel company, he looked and said: "Yesterday I thought that at last
you had convinced me what a 'gentleman' really was, and you have put me
back at least six points." A good "come back!" _N'est ce pas?_
Then there is Harry M----, one of the finest men that I have met. He is
very clever and has one big thing in his life--devotion to his wonderful
country which is tempered by a decent appreciation of other people's. We
are great friends, but we jeer at one another a great deal, and always
end up better friends than when we started. He has forgotten more than
most of us know, but he loves to be insulted if it is done in fun. Then
he girds himself for the combat.
Once I endeavoured to get a rise by saying that I did not believe there
were any Americans at all, except the red Indians. "Eddy here is a
Bromoseltzian," I remarked. "Pat and his son are Irish, Dnul is a Dane,
Weiss is a Dutchman, and you, Mr. M----, are an Englishman; there ain't
no such animal as an American." The last bullet in my rain of shrapnel
told. He was speechless, and then, in desperation, he said: "And how,
may I ask, do you regard this huge nation, with its history and Patrick
Henry and George Washington, and all that sort of thing?" "Oh, as just
an interesting conglomeration of comic persons," I replied. Then we all
laughed and dispersed to our respective offices. I have learnt that if
you are once a friend of an American you can jest and laugh with him as
much as you like. Having become his friend, you have no desire in the
world to say anything that will hurt him.
I have long and interesting chats with Mr. M----. He told me once that
during the early days of the war, at the end of August, 1914, when
Americans knew the full extent of the disaster to the French army and of
our own retreat from Mons, several important members of the steel
company, mostly of English descent with a little German blood mixed with
it, had a meeting in our lunch room. They were very worried about us all
over in England and France. They were also worried about their own sons
because they knew that America would not stand by and see England and
France crushed. All these men themselves, if possible, would have at
once gone over to help; and they discussed plans. They also knew, and I
know now, and have known all along, that if England had ever reached the
stage when she needed American help it would have been possible to raise
an army of several millions of Americans to fight for England. _Yes, to
fight for England!_
I would not dare to say this to some of my American friends because they
would know, as I knew, that underlying their criticism of England there
is often a very deep devotion to the British Empire. The Germans have
known this all along, and we can thank fortune that it still exists in
spite of our failure to foster it. We established an _entente cordiale_
with France our hereditary foe, thank goodness, and we succeeded because
many of us are bad at French and consequently unable to insult the
French people. We have never seriously attempted the same thing with
America. It is the underlying devotion of many Americans for the home
country, as some of them still call our land, which has prevented the
rudeness of some of our people from doing permanent harm. The Germans
have tried to remove this devotion, but they have not succeeded amongst
the educated classes, because, like us, intelligent American people
don't quite like the Boche until he has settled in the country for over
a hundred years.
But they have succeeded with the poorer classes, who sometimes dislike
us intensely. The average American working man regards his brother in
England as a poor fool who is ground down by the fellow who wears a high
hat. He also regards John Bull as a wicked, land-grabbing old
fellow--America's only enemy.
I share an office at the moment with a couple of American boys, both
married. At first I shared Dnul's office with him, but as it is
necessary for him to keep up diplomatic relations with all inspectors I
felt that I would be in his way, so I retired, against his will, to the
office next to him. It is better so.
The boys with me are interesting. One was a National Guard captain and
looks the part. He was a Canadian once, so cannot be president of the
United States. It is a great pity. The other is very clever at drawings
and although only twenty-seven has made the world cheerier by being the
father of eight children. I have arranged to inspect them some day and
he is getting them drilled. He witnessed my signature to the publisher's
contract for my first book on the day of his last baby's birth. Books
and babies have always been mixed in my mind since I first heard the
story of St. Columba's quarrel over the manuscript belonging to some
other saint which he had copied. You remember the story. The archbishop
or some very superior person looked into the matter, and said: "To every
cow belongs its own calf." I believe that I am quoting correctly. I
hoped that this friend's signature would be a good omen.
The other fellow, he of the National Guard, has but one baby. I manage
to get along very well with them both.
There are an awful lot of stenographers about; a galaxy of beauty. I
hear that they are very well paid, and judging by their very smart
appearance they must be. I think that they are even better looking and
more smartly turned out than the young ladies employed in the machine
tool department at the Ministry in London.
I met old Sir Francis N---- one day going up the stairs at the Hotel
Metropole in London after it became Armament Hall, and he said that
really one did not know these days whether to raise one's hat or to wink
when one met a young lady on the stairs. I always maintain a sympathetic
neutrality. It is better thus.
I found, at first, letter writing a little difficult. One dictates
everything and one must never forget to file one's letters. In business
it is considered an awful thing to insult a person in a letter. Insult
him to his face, by all means, if necessary; but never write rude
things. I found it difficult to distrust firmly the intelligence of the
person receiving the letter. Everything must be perfectly plain and you
have to imagine that the person receiving the letter knows nothing about
the subject. If writing a business letter to a friend I invariably
became too personal. Cold blooded though polite things are business
letters. They are immortal, too, and live in files for centuries and are
liable to strike back at any moment like a boomerang. If you are
insulting a third person it is always good to put before your more
cutting statements, "In my opinion, I think." This will save you much
trouble because it is taken that you are humble, and that your opinion
is not worth very much. Nevertheless it will cause the person to whom
you are writing to look into the matter, whereas if you say straight
out, and crudely, that Jones is an entirely useless person or that Biggs
is inefficient (it is better to say inadequate, since it means the
same), the person receiving the letter will at once mutter, "Newspaper
talk," and will forget the matter, although he may look into your own
actions with a coldly discerning eye.
It seems to be different in the army where people write most unpleasant,
suggestive things to one another. I don't think that they keep files so
well in the army. However, I am learning fast and am very careful.
There are many wonderful contrivances over here for the saving of
labour. They do not always save time, it is true, but many of them are
useful, nevertheless. It is sometimes an interesting thing to see a
fellow waiting several minutes for an elevator to take him down one
flight of stairs. People seldom walk anywhere, as far as I can see; but
this fact does not seem to affect the national physique which is usually
splendid.
Quite large numbers of men wear spectacles, not your
intellectual-looking gold-rimmed pince-nez, but great horn-rimmed
goggles that certainly give a man a whimsical look. It all depends upon
the appearance of the fellow. If he is thin and wiry these great goggles
make him look like a polite tadpole. The theatrical folk realize this
and in every comic show one of the comedians generally appears in these
spectacles.
Desiring to use a swimming pool open only to the students of Lehigh
University, I decided to take a course of lectures on metallurgy. I
shuddered when I heard that these lectures took place from eight until
nine A.M. How would one fit in breakfast? However, I arrived
one Monday morning and found myself with twenty other fellows sitting at
the feet of a large St. Bernard dog, and a very learned professor. I
looked with interest at the men around me. They all seemed pale and
haggard and "By Jove, these American students must work hard!" I
thought. However, after several weeks I felt very much the same on
Monday mornings, because many of the fellows became my friends and we
spent our week ends together in fervent study at more than one extremely
diverting country club. Perhaps, however, this is unfair.
The American university man is alleged to be a hard worker. He certainly
has some very stiff examinations to pass. As a matter of fact, the man
who desires to get on well in the business or intellectual world has to
work jolly hard at the university over here. It is possible for a man, I
have heard, to work his way through college without receiving a penny
from his father. A fellow may even earn money by collecting laundry from
his fellow students. The glorious part about this lies in the fact that
his men friends do not supply him with kindly pity, but they sincerely
admire him. If he is a good sort, that's all that matters.
As far as I can glean, the average American varsity man is a great hero
worshiper. One is constantly meeting fellows who are regarded by their
friends as regular "princes," and the thing that draws the greatest
amount of admiration is well developed personality which in America is
generally allied to kindliness. These "princes" are always humble, and
invariably the same in their treatment of both ordinary people, and,
what we called at Cambridge "rabbits" or undergraduates of the dormouse
breed.
Sometimes people over here have pointed out to me that it is impossible
for an undergraduate to work his way through our older universities. I
have, of course, told them that while it would be very awkward to have a
fellow undergraduate calling for one's soiled linen in England, still we
had a way whereby a man could work his way through any university and
especially the older ones. I told them that at my college there were
always at least twenty men who received no money from home, but by
comparatively hard work they were able to win scholarships and
exhibitions. So that really things are much the same, the only
difference lying in the fact that as our colleges are much older, people
have had time to die in greater numbers and consequently there have been
more bequests. I cannot say that I have had much opportunity to study
the person called here a "lounge lizard." Like his brother in England,
he at once joined up and is now learning to be a soldier.
I must admit that the American university man is very like his brother
in England, just as irresponsible, just as charming and often possessed
with the same firm determination to do as little work as possible under
the circumstances. The only difference lies in the fact that after
leaving college he is sucked into a whirlpool of exciting business and
sometimes he finds himself floating down a strong flowing river of
wealth wondering if it has really been worth while.
"You know how to live in England," they often say to me. "We don't. We
work too hard, and we play too hard, and we haven't the remotest idea
how to rest." Perhaps they are right, but it seems to me that a little
American vim introduced to an English graduate would be an excellent
thing; for after he has left college and is making an ass of himself in
the city he has to learn that while a Cambridge or an Oxford hall mark
is an excellent thing in the vicarage drawing room, it causes its
possessor some sad moments in the business world of London or of
anywhere else.
Perhaps this is a bit rough on the graduate from Oxford and Cambridge;
but I think most of them will admit that there is a certain amount of
truth in what I say. Of course, in my experience throughout the Empire I
have found the varsity man a magnificent type of Britisher, but it is
obvious that he has got to learn a few lessons, and lessons are
sometimes hard things to learn.
X
SUBMARINES
BETHLEHEM, U. S. A., August 30, 1917.
The other day Dicky C---- and I went to Atlantic City for the week end.
So many of my Bethlehem friends go to this place every year, that I felt
my American experience would not be complete without a visit. We left
this town at about three o'clock; we ought to have left sooner. The
chauffeur developed caution to an almost unlimited extent and this
worried Dicky, a furious driver himself. He told me with some pride the
number of times he had been arrested on the White Horse Pike. The
caution of the chauffeur was responsible for our arrival at our
destination at about ten o'clock at night.
Being Saturday night, of course, it was impossible for a time to get
either rooms or food. At the hotel where Dicky usually stopped we were
turned down. His Majesty, the clerk, disliked the shape of our noses or
our clothing or something. We spent one dollar fifty in telephone calls
trying to get some hotel to take us in.
We started with the good ones, but even the fifth class houses were
full. I therefore approached the clerk and explained that I was a
British officer with nowhere except the sands upon which to sleep. This
worked like magic.
We were shown into what was called a club room near the top of the
building, where twelve beds were arranged hospital fashion. Our fellow
guests were not there then, so we decided to sleep on the balcony in
case any of them snored. The building is a beautiful one, having
wonderful sort of battlements, and we fixed our beds out on one of
these.
Then we sought food. We tried one fashionable place, but the head waiter
was not impressed. He certainly looked at our noses and at our clothes.
About these clothes--I had on a very good sort of golf kit. I almost
know the sheep on the Island of Harris off of which the wool forming the
material came. My stockings were thick and home made in the Highlands,
and my brogues were made by Mr. Maxwell in Dover Street. Dicky was
turned out similarly and being a big handsome sort of chap looked fine.
Perhaps if we had given that waiter ten dollars as his usual patrons do,
we would have been ushered in with much bowing, but we preferred to
starve rather than to give him a cent.
We sought restaurant after restaurant, but could get nothing, not even a
poached egg. Dicky was getting crabby. After an hour we at last got into
a hot cheery sort of cabaret and drank small beer and ate all sorts of
grills, also clams. After this Dicky became brighter, and I also felt
more kindly, so we hired a comfy chair on wheels and spent an hour on
the Board Walk, while the chairman told us with much enjoyment of all
the sin and wickedness existing in Atlantic City. His stories, very
lurid, were mixed up with automatic "pianners" into which one put a
nickel.
Upon returning we found most of our fellow guests of the club room in
bed, so we stole out on to the battlement and soon were sound asleep.
I awoke in the morning to find a terrific sun shining on my head
threatening to melt my brain. I looked up towards the hotel and noted
that we were sleeping on a balcony above which were roughly about eight
stories. Immediately above us stretched a line of windows marking a
staircase, and out of each window looked a head. It was really a study
in black and white. There were black maids, and white maids, and they
were all interested in Dicky as he lay there with the sun turning his
light coloured hair into gold. I awoke him, and we both got inside and
dressed.
After breakfast, and as it was a table d'hote we were not at all sparing
in our choice of food, we sat for a time on a charming balcony
overlooking the Board Walk. It was interesting to watch the people. I
made a tremendous discovery, which was perhaps a little disappointing. I
had always hoped that the British Empire contained the lost tribes of
Israel. It does not. The United States of America has that honour.
We then sought a dressing room, and after removing our clothes and
donning "fashionable bathing things" we sought the sand. It was all very
thrilling and I was further confirmed in my discovery. There was a
continuous procession of persons clad in bathing things, thousands of
them. Few went into the water. There was much that was really beautiful.
There were men burnt a rich shade of copper, beautifully built, with
clean cut, good looking faces, walking along enjoying their youth. There
were some priceless looking girls well decorated. I dislike women's
bathing suits. They are theoretically meant for bathing in, but why on
earth should they wear those extraordinary hideous garments: They look
awful when they return from the water. Their stockings are all dragged
round their legs and if they are shoeless the toe part of the stockings
seems to escape and hangs over. However, most of the ladies had no
intention of swimming. Their faces were often powdered and painted and
their hair arranged in a most engaging way. Still many were delightful
to look upon, notwithstanding their attire. I believe there are very
strict rules about women's costumes at Atlantic City. My landlady
assures me that she has seen the policemen measuring the length of a
girl's swimming skirt!
I saw some magnificent looking fellows walking along. American men's
dress often seems designed to spoil a fellow's appearance. His breeches
are sometimes a little tight and the sleeves of his coat are short,
displaying a good looking silk shirt; and sometimes as the breeches are
low at the waist, the shirt sticks out in an untidy bulge. When he
places on his good looking head the felt hat in vogue the destruction of
his personal appearance is quite complete. But on the beach at Atlantic
City all this is changed, and one realizes that the standard of manly
physical beauty in this country is a very high one.
The bathing suit here in America is exactly like the kit we wear for
Rugby football. Perhaps it would be better for swimming if it were
lighter, and in one piece, but as much time is spent promenading, it is
obviously better that it should be as it is.
Of course, quite a number were not beautiful to look upon. There were
thousands of men and women who had reached the unlovely stage of their
existence. Large portly men walked about unashamed and women with large
stout legs encased sometimes in green stockings could be seen. As one
walked along the beach the society seemed to change. Towards the poorer
part of the town the people were a little older and less interesting. We
came to one section where most of the bathers and promenaders were
coloured people. I must say at once that the effect was singularly
diverting. The young coloured ladies and gentlemen were smartly turned
out. These American negroes look like awfully nice people. One would
see a young coloured lady with an expensive and sometimes a beautiful
swimming suit walking beside a fine handsome coloured boy. They seemed
so happy. I was thrilled with the little ones as they dashed about with
their strong little limbs. Unfortunately we had little time for
observation because Dicky had seen a huge fat man at another part of the
beach in a bathing costume, the sort of fellow that one sees at a
country fair, and he insisted upon returning to have another look. This
fat man sat there with his huge fearful limbs partially exposed while a
crowd stood and looked at him. He seemed to like it, too. Human egotism
is truly wonderful. The whole morning was enjoyable. I loved the open
air, the sea breezes and all that sort of thing.
I had heard a lot about the Board Walk. As a thing of use it is
delightful. One can walk for miles along its length, seeing a strange
procession of human beings, but its new look, the fact that it is made
of wood, tends to give Atlantic City an uncertain and unstable
foundation. It spoiled the effect of our hotel with its magnificent
architecture. Still it provides a very restful way to walk, and I
suppose it has its uses. I am a little astonished that Americans should
come to this strange place and turn themselves into money fountains and,
upon running dry, return to business; though of course it is fine to be
with a crowd of cheerful people.
I have never visited any of our seaside resorts during the summer
season, so I cannot well compare Atlantic City with any of them. I don't
think that a similar place would be popular in England. Of course, we
were there at a rather difficult time. I have been told that prices go
up about twenty-five per cent. or even more during August.
Atlantic City seems to be a long thin town stretching for several miles
along the Atlantic coast. The hotels are truly beautiful. Apart from
their architecture they are beautifully decorated inside. Our hotel has
a place called the Submarine Grill. The idea the artist wishes to convey
is that the diners are spending a hectic time at the bottom of the sea.
The general effect is rather lovely and the colouring suggests the
inside of a very rich Mohammedan mosque, in spite of the sea idea.
Perhaps the mermaids of Atlantic City make up for this; and there are
many. However, we all go down, pay the head waiter a large sum for three
bows and a continuous smile and are ushered to the best seats, under the
circumstances. The food is beautifully cooked, but the bill grows very
large, and one leaves quite happy but poorer.