ich the ship rolled and rocked,
groaned and shuddered, and the sea did precisely what it liked with us,
we arrived a day and a half late, and surrounded by press-men I
feather-stitched on to American soil.

If the reporters are a little lacking in awe, they make up for it by the
intelligent interest they take in everything connected with one; and
after being asked what I thought of "flappers" and what Mr. Lloyd George
thought of me, I was allowed to go to the Ambassador Hotel. I could not
have been greeted with more courtesy had I arrived at Windsor Castle,
nor have I ever stayed in a better hotel.

My son-in-law Prince Bibesco, my daughter Elizabeth, and my cousin Miss
Tennant (whose brother is Sir Auckland Geddes's private secretary),
showed me the airy bedrooms and beautiful bathrooms which the manager of
the hotel had chosen for us. I sat down completely exhausted when
suddenly the door opened and my sitting room was flooded with male and
female reporters. Having been seasick and without solid food for a week,
the carpet and ceiling were still nodding at me, and I regret to confess
that I said nothing very striking; but they were welcoming and friendly;
and after a somewhat dislocated conversation I staggered off to bed.

I was introduced the next day by my cicerone, Mr. Lee Keedick, to the
New Amsterdam Theatre, where scouts were placed in distant galleries to
try my voice. I had no difficulty in making myself heard, but I felt
terribly ill and more than inadequate as I made my first appearance at
3.30 in the well filled theatre. Dr. Murray Butler introduced me in a
courteous speech and explained that after such an unusually rough
crossing I would be obliged to sit down throughout the performance,
which I much regretted.

I opened with a spirited account of an Irish horse dealer, which, I
could see at a glance, interested nobody. Whether I was speaking Irish
or English, it might have been Walloon for all the audience cared. My
heart faded, my voice sank, and I knew that many could not hear; some
were not listening, and my friends were watching me with apprehension,
charity and cheers. More dead than alive I was relieved when an
enterprising lady shouted from the gallery:

"You've got my money for nothing--Good-bye, I've had enough of you!"

This informal greeting stirred the kindness of my listeners to a
protest, and as soon as I could, I changed to other subjects. With the
fall of the curtain many old friend