“Are you annoyed?” Bismarck asked his barber, when he came in one day with his moustache twirled upward in the new fashion of the race tracks.  “A moustache trimmed and twisted like that to me looks as if it were terribly annoyed and for no reason.”

VII

The international gong had not been introduced on the Roland.  The trumpeter of the band sent two blasts across the promenade deck and through the corridors of the first cabin as a signal for the midday meal.  The first blast entered with the howling of the wind into the close, noisy, crowded smoking saloon.  The attendant of the man without arms came to conduct his master across the deck again.  Frederick watched the armless man with great interest.  He seemed to be extraordinarily brisk and quick-witted.  He spoke English, French and German with equal fluency, and to everybody’s delight parried the impertinences of a saucy young American, whose disrespectfulness did not yield even before the sacred person of the captain; for which the dignified skipper sometimes rewarded him by staring over his head like a lion over a yapping terrier.

The table in the dining-room was in the form of a trident, with the closed end at the rear and the three prongs pointing to the prow.  Opposite the centre prong was a false mantel with a mirror, where was posted the elegant figure in blue livery of Mr. Pfundner, the head-steward.  He was a man of between forty and fifty.  With his white, artificially curled hair, which gave the impression of being powdered, he resembled a major-domo of Louis XIV’s time.  As he stood there, head erect, looking over the swaying hall, he seemed to be the special squire of Captain von Kessel, who sat at the end of the middle prong, in the capacity both of host and most honoured guest.  Next to the captain sat Doctor Wilhelm and the first mate.  Frederick, having found favour in the captain’s eyes, was assigned a place next to Doctor Wilhelm.  The ship was no longer tossing so violently, and the dining-room, in consequence, was fairly well filled.  The last ones to enter were the card players of the smoking-room, who came storming in.  At the closed end of the trident, Frederick saw Mr. Hahlstroem, but without his daughter.

Many stewards very quickly and deftly served a vast quantity of dishes.  Wine was also placed on the table.  Within a short while the corks were popping from champagne bottles in the vicinity of the card players.  In a gallery the band played without interruption.  There were seven numbers on the printed music programme, which bore the name of the vessel, the date, and a picture of negroes in evening dress and high hats plucking at banjos.

VIII

Still the forward part of the vessel and, along with it, the dining-room with all its dishes, plates, and bottles, with its gentlemen guests and lady guests and the steward-waiters, with its fish and vegetables and meats and drinks and brass band, were lifted high on the mountain top of one wave and plunged deep in the trough of the next.  The mighty working of the engines quivered through the ship.  The dining-room walls had to cope with the onslaught of the opposing element.