The Majestic came gliding into New York harbor on an April morning. She sniffed at the tug-boats and turtle-gaited ferries, winked at a gaudy young yacht and ordered a cattle-boat out of her way with a snarling whistle of steam. Then she parked at her private dock with all the fuss of a stout lady sitting down, and announced complacently that she had just come from Cherbourg and Southampton with a cargo of the very best people in the world.

The very best people in the world stood on the deck and waved idiotically to their poor relations who were waiting on the dock for gloves from Paris. Before long a great toboggan had connected the Majestic with the North American continent and the ship began to disgorge these very best people in the world—who turned out to be movie queens, missionaries, retired jewellers, British authors, musical comedy twins, the Duchess Mazzini (nee Goldberg) and, needless to add, Lord and Lady Thingumbob, of Thingumbob Manor.

The photographers worked wildly as the stream of passengers flowed on to the dock. There was a burst of cheering at the appearance of a pair of stretchers laden with two middle-westerners who had drunk themselves delirious on the last night out.

The deck gradually emptied but when the last Poiret Madonna had reached shore the photographers still remained at their posts. And the officer in charge of debarkation still stood at the foot of the gangway, glancing first at his watch and then at the deck as if some important part of the cargo was still on board. At last from the watchers on the pier there arose a long-drawn “Ah-h-h!” as a final entourage began to stream down from deck B.

First came two French maids, one carrying a pair of minute dogs and the other bearing an enormous green parrot in an enormous red cage. After these marched a squad of porters, blind and invisible under innumerable bunches and bouquets of fresh flowers. Another maid followed, leading a sad-eyed orphan child of a French flavor and close upon its heels walked the second officer pulling along three neurasthenic wolfhounds much to their reluctance and his own.

A pause.