The British serving classes are ever like
that, whether met with at sea or on their native soil. They are
a great and a noble institution. Give an English servant a kind
word and he thanks you. Give him a harsh word and he still thanks
you. Ask a question of a London policeman - he tells you fully and
then he thanks you. Go into an English shop and buy something - the
clerk who serves you thanks you with enthusiasm. Go in and fail
to buy something - he still thanks you, but without the
enthusiasm.
One kind of Englishman says Thank you, sir; and one kind - the
Cockney who has been educated - says Thenks; but the majority brief
it into a short but expressive expletive and merely say: Kew. Kew
is the commonest word in the British Isles. Stroidinary runs it
a close second, but Kew comes first. You hear it everywhere.
Hence Kew Gardens; they are named for it.
All the types that travel on a big English-owned ship were on ours.
I take it that there is a requirement in the maritime regulations
to the effect that the set must be complete before a ship may put
to sea. To begin with, there was a member of a British legation
from somewhere going home on leave, for a holiday, or a funeral.
At least I heard it was a holiday, but I should have said he was
going home for the other occasion. He wore an Honorable attached
to the front of his name and carried several extra initials behind
in the rumble; and he was filled up with that true British reserve
which a certain sort of Britisher always develops while traveling
in foreign lands. He was upward of seven feet tall, as the crow
flies, and very thin and rigid.
Viewing him, you got the impression that his framework all ran
straight up and down, like the wires in a bird cage, with barely
enough perches extending across from side to side to keep him from
caving in and crushing the canaries to death. On second thought
I judge I had better make this comparison in the singular number
- there would not have been room in him for more than one canary.
Every morning for an hour, and again every afternoon for an hour,
he marched solemnly round and round the promenade deck, always
alone and always with his mournful gaze fixed on the far horizon.
As I said before, however, he stood very high in the air, and it
may have been he feared, if he ever did look down at his feet, he
should turn dizzy and be seized with an uncontrollable desire to
leap off and end all; so I am not blaming him for that.
He would walk his hour out to the sixtieth second of the sixtieth
minute and then he would sit in his steamer chair, as silent as a
glacier and as inaccessible as one.
