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We made good time, assisted by the current, running down the St. Clair River, crossing Lake St. Clair, and then easing down the busy Detroit River to a short stop at Detroit. I think Rog by this time had overcome his whistle-shyness. I do find one gem in my memo, however, which may have occurred during the Detroit stop returning. I pointed out a ferry boat to Rog as we stood at the rail of the SOUTH AMERICAN surveying the vast activity. Rog looked at me curiously and said, "Are there fairies on it, Dad?" And speaking of the children, I have a distinct recollection that that summer, there was a picture of Bab and Rog, taken by the beauteous Ronnie, in the rotogravure section of either the Cleveland or Buffalo Sunday paper but, alas, it must have become lost a long time ago.

I shall now conclude the specific account of the cruise by completing the story of Dorothy Baptiste. She was from Hartford and therefore it wasn't surprising to learn that she was of French and Irish ancestry, which is quite a combination. I never learned her exact age but she must have been in her low 20s. She was a private secretary by profession. She lived at home with her parents, a sister fourteen and a brother eight. She had a grandfather who'd followed the sea and been married in the Bay of Naples, finally marrying three times. Dorothy commented, "He wasn't a romantic man but he always seemed to have a wife." The same might have been said for my Grandfather Hutchinson, who followed the sea and was married three times but I don't recall telling Dorothy this. She had spent the week before the cruise at a big gymnastic meet in Cleveland, where her Hartford Club had a delegation. Her current rage in sports was golf, which had supplanted tennis. Knowing only this much biographical data on Dorothy and nothing more, it would have been easy to jump to the conclusion that she came from a relatively uncultured French-Canadian family that had emigrated to Connecticut a generation or so ago. But if so, she herself, at least, had made great strides. She acted basically very well brought up--polite, thoughtful, candid, honest, unselfish, smart as a whip, impartial, kind, considerate and sympathetic, and with obvious good taste, besides being interested in everything. However, she put on no airs whatever. One day, a deck steward asked her, "You're in V aren't you?" to which she answered, "No, that's Mr. Clark's cabin. I've just visited them up there a lot. No, I'm down on C-deck in 99 with the rest of the steerage." And she gave him a happy laugh to top it off.

I'd had little opportunity to talk to Dorothy but our last evening aboard, I got a break. We were steaming down Lake Erie on the last leg, due in Buffalo early the following morning. Characteristic of my stay-up-late proclivities on the Quebec trip, I didn't retire when the family did but wound up finally alone in the Verandah Cafe, aft on the embarking deck, a drinking spot I'd forgotten to mention. I sat there drinking a beer. It was quite dark and suddenly I discovered at the next

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