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قراءة كتاب Ship-Bored
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SHIP-BORED
By The Same Author
THE NEED OF CHANGE.
Cloth. 50 cents net
PARIS À LA CARTE.
Cloth. 60 cents net
MY ENEMY—THE MOTOR.
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SHIP-BORED
By
JULIAN STREET
AUTHOR OF "THE NEED OF CHANGE," ETC.
With Illustrations by
MAY WILSON PRESTON
NEW YORK
JOHN LANE COMPANY
MCMXIV
Copyright, 1911
By The Ridgway Company
Copyright, 1912
By John Lane Company
TO
BOOTH TARKINGTON
"Loda il mare da terra."
THE SPOTTER IS A "PERFECT DEAR," AND THAT IS HOW YOUR WIFE COMES TO LOSE TWELVE DRESSES AND A TWENTY-THOUSAND-DOLLAR NECKLACE AND HAVE HYSTERICS ON THE DOCK.(See page 47)
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
| The spotter is "a perfect dear", and that is how your wife comes to lose twelve dresses and a twenty-thousand-dollar necklace and have hysterics on the dock | Frontispiece |
| Small wonder that you hand a dollar to your sister and kiss the porter | 14 |
| I recognise the blonde divinity. Her eyes are closed, her hat on one ear, and she is wrapped like a mummy | 18 |
| How the ship rolls and lurches | 22 |
| Ah, confidences beside a life-boat on the upper deck! | 26 |
| Quite the nicest place on the whole ship is the smoke-room | 30 |
| Your cap goes flying overboard. * * * Your cigar is blown to shreds | 38 |
| There is a horrible fascination about a ship's concert, something hypnotic that draws you, very much against your word and will | 44 |
"Ship-Bored" originally appeared in Everybody's Magazine.
PREFACE
Whatever the effect of "Ship-Bored" upon others, its publication has exerted a very definite effect upon me, or rather upon the character of my daily mail. Instead of letters the postman now leaves little packages containing pills which, according to the senders, will prevent the casting of bread upon the waters.
It is astonishing to learn how many sea-sick remedies there are. Looking at the bottles and the boxes piled, each morning by my breakfast plate, I sometimes wonder if there aren't as many remedies as sufferers.
But suppose there are? Why do people send the medicines to me? Why do perfect strangers assume that, because I have taken up the task of muck-raking the Atlantic Ocean, I am in need of antidotes for mal de mer? Even suppose that I do suffer thus at sea? Is it anybody else's business—or luncheon?
All great literary works are born of suffering. Stop the suffering and you stop the author. Yet people keep on sending pills to me—each pill an added insult if you choose to take it that way.
But I don't take them that way. I don't take them at all. I try them on my friends. When a friend of mine is sailing I send him a few pills out of a recent bottle. If he reports that he was sea-sick I throw away the balance of the bottle. The same if he dies. That shows that the pills are too strong.
I do not wish to take undue credit to myself for conducting these experiments. Since the pills are given to me, my researches cost me nothing—excepting an occasional friend whom (as he was sailing for Europe, anyway) I should not be able to see, even if he were alive.
New York, January, 1912.
SHIP-BORED
When the cabin port-holes are dark and green
Because of the seas outside;
When the ship goes wop (with a wiggle between)
And the steward falls into the soup-tureen,
And the trunks begin to slide;
When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,
And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,
And you aren't waked or washed or dressed,
Why, then you will know (if you haven't guessed)
You're "Fifty North and Forty West!"
—Just-So Stories.
"Now run, dear! That's the gangway! You take the baby, and I'll take the fitted bag! Yes, I have the sea-sick tablets; they're here in my pocket with the tickets and the letters of credit and the travellers' cheques and the baby's mittens and the trunk keys and the—Well, I don't care who's here to see us off! People ought to know better! Now hurry up! There