rd, I caught sight of an artistic display of a
delicacy I had thought long obsolete--the everlasting gum-drop. But when
I produced a shilling the shopkeeper shook his head. "Sure, every day
the sailors are wanting to buy them of me, but it's for ornament I'm
keeping them," he said. "There's no more to be had till the war will
be over. Eight years they're here now, and you wouldn't get a tooth in
them, sir!" So I wandered out again, joined the admiral, and inspected
the Bluejackets' Club by the water's edge. Nothing one sees, perhaps, is
so eloquent of the change that has taken place in the life and fabric of
our navy. If you are an enlisted man, here in this commodious group of
buildings you can get a good shore meal and entertain your friends among
the Allies, you may sleep in a real bed, instead of a hammock, you may
play pool, or see a moving-picture show, or witness a vaudeville worthy
of professionals, like that recently given in honour of the visit of
the admiral of our Atlantic fleet. A band of thirty pieces furnished the
music, and in the opinion of the jackies one feature alone was lacking
to make the entertainment a complete success--the new drop-curtain had
failed to arrive from London. I happened to be present when this curtain
was first unrolled, and beheld spread out before me a most realistic
presentation of "little old New York," seen from the North River,
towering against blue American skies. And though I have never been
overfond of New York, that curtain in that place gave me a sensation!

Such is the life of our officers and sailors in these strange times that
have descended upon us. Five to eight days of vigilance, of hardship
and danger--in short, of war--and then three days of relaxation and
enjoyment in clubs, on golf-courses and tennis-courts, barring the time
it takes to clean ship and paint. There need be no fear that the war
will be neglected. It is eminently safe to declare that our service will
be true to its traditions.

III

"Dogged does it" ought to be added to "Dieu et mon droit" and other
devices of England. On a day when I was lunching with Mr. Lloyd George
in the dining-room at 10 Downing Street that looks out over the Horse
Guards' Parade, the present premier, with a characteristic gesture,
flung out his hand toward the portrait of a young man in the panel over
the mantel. It was of the younger Pitt, who had taken his meals and
drunk his port in this very room in that other gre