TIPPING.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2467, 3 April 1909, Page 3

TIPPING.

(By a Arictim.)

I was on a big coastal steamer travelling from—well, that does not matter, and, for the nonce revelled in the? .luxury of a tidy bank roll, so booked first-class. Being of an inquisitive mind | and having nothing to do, I watched the people as they came aboard and particularly tho stewards, and, oh, what an interesting, observant class of humanity they are. An old lady came staggering down the gangway with trouble writ large on her face. She timidly approached a portly steward, but he had evidently sized her up, as in reply to a query as to “where the ladies’ cabin was, sir?” he shouted to a youth in buttons standing near by, to “show the lady to her cabin.” The. boy even found it a trouble to relieve her of her parcels. . Evidently she was not looked upon as good - game. Soon after another passenger came along- the -gangway, and Ills every appearance showed that the world had dealt generously with him. And what a change in the attitude of that portly steward. “Atom* bag, sir? Berth, sir? No. 99, sir. Come along sir.” Then a coin disappears like magic from one palm to the other. The tip must have been a good one. as urbanity and good-fellowship fairly glows from the obsequious one’s face. But the traveller lias not yet run the gamut, as another officious steward stands ready to show him the bath-room, another the smoke-room, and so on. All appear to have their special duties allotted and all expect their little—but, no, that must not be spoken of —it must be slipped along quietly with a Carl Hirst gesture. Oh, yes; those stewards are readers of human nature, and even now my pocket tingles as I think of that trip. Three months later I returned home, a much poorer man, and had, perforce to travel second-class. By the irony of fate I returned home in the same steamer I came away in as a first-class passenger. This time there was no obliging steward to carry my grip down to the cabin. I had to be my own carrier. I slipped down below and stood hesitating in an alley-way when I was told, in stentorian tones, not to block the passage. I moved on a bit, but as I felt that “m3 7 inwards needed refreshin’,” I timidly asked" him where tho bar was. “Go along there and you’ll find it,” was his repl3 r . I found it. and, 011, how I longed for the iced water and cool drink of the saloon, bar. Here one had to put up with one brand of liquor and turgid water. Dinner time, and we all take our places at a long table. I looked for a menu, hut. alas, such luxuries were denied us. Instead, a waiter stood at the head of the table and asked, “AA’ho says soup?” This finished he next informed 11s that the hill of fare was “curry, hot pot, and cold meat.” I tried “hot pot,” but never again.. I still dream of that “hot pot.” Bed time at last, and my thoughts fondly turned to white sheets and downy hod. "But my dreams were badly shattered, for, alas, the bunks were as hard as —and for covering there was a frowsylooking blanket and pillows “that for a thousand years had braved the battle and the storm.” At any rate they looked as if a wash would do no harm. But I was tired and turned in, but, oh .“the untold horrors of that night.” Thank goodness, everything haVan ending, and so did that trip. But let me close, by saying that in that second-class there was no tipping.