Author : H.M. Tomlinson
The shipping posters of New York, showing stately liners too lofty even to notice the Atlantic, were
arguments good enough for steerage passengers, who do, I know, reckon a steamer's worth by the number of
its funnels; but the pictures did nothing to lessen my regard for that dark outer world I knew. And having no
experience of ships installed with racquet courts, Parisian cafes, swimming baths, and pergolas, I was
naturally puzzled by the inconsequential behavior of the first-class passengers at the hotel. They were
leaving by the liner which was to take me, and, I gathered, were going to cross a bridge to England in the
morning. Of course, this might have been merely the innocent profanity of the simple-minded.
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