A Fantasy of Mediterranean Travel | Page 3

it
did not altogether match with the other coloring which nature had
bestowed upon him. Then we had a "fidgetarian," who was one of the

unlaundered ironies of life; he could not keep still for a moment. This
specimen was from Throgg's Neck, and danced the carmagnole in
concentric circles all by himself, twisting in and out between the
waltzers evidently with the feeling that he was the "whole show," and
that the other dancers were merely accessories to the draught he made,
and followed in his wake. He was a half portion in the gold-filled class,
and a charter member of the Forty-second Street Country Club.
We were also honored by the presence of Mrs. Handy Jay Andy, of
Alexandry, who had "stunted considerable" in Europe, and was anxious
to repeat the performance in the Levant. She didn't carry a pug dog, but
she thought a "lady" ought to tote round with her something in captivity,
so she compromised on a canary, which she bought in Smyrna, where
all the good figs come from. She was a colored supplement to
high-toned marine society.
No collection of this kind would be complete without a military officer,
and we had him all right; we called him "the General," a man who
jested at scars and who had a beard out of which a Pullman pillow
might be easily constructed. On gala nights he decorated himself with
medals, and on the whole was a very ornamental piece of human
bric-à-brac. Of course we had the man with the green--but not too
French green--hat. He had a curly duck's tail, dyed green, sticking up in
its rear, so that the view from the back would resemble Emperor
William. He attracted attention, but somehow seemed like an empty
green bottle thrown in the surf.
Some of the ladies had their little peculiarities also. There was Mrs.
Galley-West from North Fifth Avenue, New York, a "widow-lady,"
whose name went up on the social electric-light sign when she began to
ride home in a limousine. She stated that everybody who was anybody
in that great city knew who she was and all about her. Nobody disputed
her statements. As time elapsed she became very confidential, and one
day stated that she was matrimonially inclined and intimated that she
would welcome an introduction to an aged millionaire in delicate health,
as it might result in her being able to carry out some ambitious plans
she had made in "philomathy." By the time we reached Cairo she had

lowered her figures to a very modest amount--but she is still a widow.
The human mushroom was also in evidence--the girl narrow and
straight up-and-down, like a tube ending in a fishtail, with a Paquin
wrap and a Virot hat, reinforced with a steel net wire neck-band--the
very latest fads from Paris. Her gowns were grand, her hats were great,
I tell you! When some one was warbling at the piano, she would put
her elbow on the lid of the "baby grand," face the audience, and strike a
stained-glass attitude that would make Raphael's cartoons look like
subway posters.
[Illustration: FUNCHAL THE LONG BRANCH OF MADEIRA;
NICE BALMY PLACE FOR A REST AFTER A PANIC. STEAMER
LEAVES LONDON TWICE A WEEK. HOTEL
ACCOMMODATIONS BY CABLE]
Among those present who came all the way from Medicine Hat was the
cowboy girl, who could ride a mustang, toss a steer with a lariat, shoot
a bear or climb a tree. She wore a sombrero, rolled up her sleeves, and
was just dying to show what she could do if she had only half a chance.
She got it when we came to the donkey rides in Egypt. She was a
"Dreadnaught girl," sure enough.
The claims of the pocket "Venus" from the "Soo," must not be
forgotten. She was small and of the reversible, air-cooled, selective
type, but as perfect as anything ever seen in a glass case. She wore a
spray of soft-shell crab-apple blossoms in her hair, which stamped her
with the bloom of Arcady. She spilled her chatter lavishly, and had the
small change of conversation right at her finger-tips. She had an
early-English look, and was deservedly popular with the boys.
The beet-sugar man from Colorado also had his place. This specialist
put his table to sleep before we lost sight of land. He stifled his
listeners with sugar statistics, informing them how many tons of beets
the State produced and what they were worth in money; how much to
expect from an acre, and the risks and profits of the industry: a
collection of facts that were the mythology of alleged truth. If you were
good the gods would make you a sugar-king in the world to come, and

Colorado was to be financially sugar-cured in the sweet by-and-by.