Uncle Henry laughed (he is always so good natured) and said that he had had enough of being Admiral to last him all his life.  But when Uncle William insisted, he said he would see what he could do.

S.S.  America.  Friday

All yesterday and to-day the sea was quite calm, and we could sit on deck.  I was glad because, in the cabin where I am, there are three other women, and it is below the water-line, and is very close and horrid.  So when it is rough, I can only sit in the alley-way with my knitting.  There the light is very dim and the air bad.  But I do not complain.  It is woman’s lot.  Uncle William and Cousin Willie have both told me this—­that it is woman’s lot to bear and to suffer; and they said it with such complete resignation that I feel I ought to imitate their attitude.

Cousin Ferdinand, too, is very brave about the dirt and the discomfort of being on board the ship.  He doesn’t seem to mind the dirt at all, and his new friends (Mr. Sheehan and Mr. Mosenhammer) seem to bear it so well, too.  Uncle Henry goes and washes his hands and face at one of the ship’s pumps before every meal, with a great noise and splashing, but Cousin Ferdinand says, “For me the pump, no.”  He says that nothing like that matters now, and that his only regret is that he did not fall at the head of his troops, as he would have done if he had not been detained by business.

I caught sight of Cousin Karl of Austria!  So it seems he is on the ship after all.  He was up on the promenade deck where the first class passengers are, and of which you can just see one end from down here in the steerage.  Cousin Karl had on a waiter’s suit and was bringing something to drink to two men who were in steamer chairs on the deck.  I don’t know whether he saw me or not, but if he did he didn’t give any sign of recognizing me.  One of the men gave Cousin Karl a piece of money and I was sure it was he, from the peculiar, cringing way in which he bowed.  It was just the manner that he used to have at Vienna with his cousin, Franz Ferdinand, and with dear old Uncle Franz Joseph.

We always thought, we girls I mean, that it was Cousin Karl who had Cousin Franz Ferdinand blown up at Serajevo.  I remember once we dared Cousin Zita, Karl’s wife, to ask Uncle William if it really was Karl.  But Uncle William spoke very gravely, and said that it was not a thing for us to discuss, and that if Karl did it, it was an “act of State,” and no doubt very painful to Cousin Karl to have to do.  Zita asked Uncle if Karl poisoned dear old Uncle Franz Joseph, because some of Karl’s best and most intimate friends said that he did.  But Uncle said very positively, “No,” that dear old Uncle Franz Joseph had not needed any poison, but had died, very naturally, under the hands of Uncle William’s own physician, who was feeling his wind-pipe at the time.

Of course, all these things seem very far away now.  But seeing Cousin Karl on the upper deck, reminded me of all the harmless gossip and tattle that used to go on among us girls in the old days.