During the week preceding my departure I worked industriously in order that all my work would be in order. I worked during other seasons of the year, but at this time there could be no postponements, everything would have to be finished by Friday evening. I showed up for work Saturday morning, but walked around in a daze as is the custom, so I am informed, of bridegrooms about to take the veil.

The gang wished me a hearty farewell at eleven and I was off for home to complete the packing of my one suitcase that had already taken much of my attention. I don't remember that I had to add anything to my travel necessities. My mother and brother went as far as Sausalito with me. In San Francisco Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey and Jean met me and together we went to Pier 16 to see my cradle of the deep.

The man who sold me my ticket must have been in a hurry for his numerals were not quite legible enough for the purser. I was shown to a room that evidently was not the best accommodation indicated by the class of my ticket. I was not concerned as mine was the lower berth, the upper had very little head room because the builders of the "H.F." had found it necessary to run some pipes through the room, close to the ceiling. My friends and I placed our approval on the room and turned to leave. A young lady with a baby in her arms was standing in the doorway and we could see her relatives, or whoever they were, standing behind her. I have already indicated that I am a single young man and one of my guests was a very charming young lady who had been good enough to come down to the boat to see me off. The situation had possibilities. I explained to the young mother that my ticket called for this room but she entered with a smile and proceeded to establish herself. Her companions mumbled something about there being a mistake and it seemed that I would have to correct it if I was to have a comfortable trip.

The purser was not surprised at hearing my plea for vindication before my friends. He informed me that the ticket agents occasionally conjure up unusual arrangements, but he would save me after we were outside the heads. We found that the error was in my room number, the ticket called for number 247, the four was weak and the bell hop had taken the number to be 207. Thus relieved we started on a sight seeing trip and gave the ship a complete investigation. At four-thirty the visitors went ashore and I tied myself to a vantage point on the boat deck.

For a moment the thrill ceased and I felt terribly alone. I was unknown to any one on board and as the lines were slackened a strip of water became visible between the ship and the dock. I wanted to change my mind. I took a picture of the crowd on the dock, just to be non-chalant. There were no familiar faces there as the Ramseys had gone to the Ferry building to get the five-fifteen. I have since realized that being on my own was a training in self-preservation that was essential to me. There could be no doubt of my freedom.

As we moved out into the harbor a strong wind was noticeable, the sheltering dock had been left behind. That is the way it appeared to me. That soldierly row of piling was our last physical contact with San Francisco and I took a good look at the pier head, it represented the jumping off point. Thirty-six hundred miles and then we would meet again.

She is a fast boat, we were soon sliding past the Ferry building and I thought of the pencil pushers in the skyscraper silhouette. Some were looking at the "H.F." and admiring the way she cut the water as she stuck her nose into the stiff breeze. But I was on her boat deck, a passenger with all the service of the shop at my convenience, king for two weeks - heigh ho!

I missed the marine superintendents who had been so apt at finding inaccessible tanks way down deep in vessels for me to crawl into. Well, I was all cleaned up now and as a passenger was not permitted in the engine room, fire room or fore peak paint locker but was restricted to the lounge, the promenade deck, smoking room, dining room and other pleasant places. The crew were working for me, deeply interested in providing for my needs.

The first tingle came when the liner left the regular ferry lanes and headed for the Gate. The five-fifteen was passing Alcatraz Island. The Ramseys watched us steam into the setting sun and we lined the rail, admiring a bay that was familiar to most of us. It always looks good, whether you are sailing in or out of it or just crossing it on the regular commuters' boat. Some passengers had glasses and were trying to identify their friends who had driven out to the Palace of the Legion of Honor to get a last look at the departing vessel. The waving of a handkerchief on shore was answered by a wave from a steamer blanket manipulated by two enthusiastic travellers.

Someone spoke, he was addressing me. Not out of the Gate yet and the bonds of convention were already forgotten. It was only a short conversation but sufficient to encourage me to expand my acquaintance. Two girls stood at the rail beside me. I ventured a few words and they answered - smiling. Excelsior!

We headed out to sea with a wide sweep to the North and the coast line gradually diffused into the haze. The outline of Mt. Tamalpais was the last to go and I gave up my watch at the stern of the boat.

It was then about six o'clock and I went below to get ready for dinner. On entering my room I found my room-mate and I offered him my hand, explaining who I was and that I was glad to know him. He hesitated just an instant, and then shook hands. He was traveling alone and we later became good friends, but I have often wondered why he paused before shaking hands with me.

He was a nice appearing, well mannered chap and would have been a good scout if he had not assumed such a sophisticated air. He had made the trip to Seattle several times and did not get the exhilaration out of the experience that I did. When I was ready he suggested that we go to dinner together. This pleased me.

The dining room was well arranged and you would think that you were in one of San Francisco's large hotels if it wasn't for the motion of the boat. The food was excellent and I put away all the courses, including a big steak, topping it off with ice cream. I was testing my sea worthiness. I came through in good shape but my lah-de-dah traveling companion was expecting something any minute.

It was still light on deck and we went up forward where the wind was strongest. We had to hold on to the rail in order to hold our position and the cold salt air seemed to restore my friend's feeling of security. Although every few minutes he would say, "I think I'm going to be ill." For some reason I don't like the word "ill." It is all right for a woman or some dignified person to use but I thing a young man just gets sick. But with all our worry and preventive measures nothing happened - I secretly wished him no luck - and he enjoyed being sorry for himself. I tried to cheer him up but gave him no sympathy.

My brother gave me a book before I sailed, "The Tale of Two Cities" by Dickens, and I sank into a soft chair in the lounge with it in my lap. Reading was too slow, though, and I quit after the first chapter. Never during the whole trip was I able to do much reading. The events of the passage were too interesting. I haven't finished the book yet.

The piano in the salon had attracted my attention before we left San Francisco and I had been hoping for a chance to try it out when no one was around. A young lady had been playing it almost continuously, but it sounded like an old player piano. She played good jazz but it was monotonous. My "ill" friend found me and we wandered around the boat, just looking things over.

There was a pleasant crowd of young people on board and we were waiting patiently for the dance to start. At nine the music started on deck and we were off. The dancing was not very good, even a slight roll of the ship threw you off balance and made it difficult to execute a simple walking step. That's all dancing is anyway, walking to music. We gave it up. The girls went to play bridge and my partner and I went into the salon. I played a few pieces on the piano and the effort was worth while. I didn't know it at the time, but the music had attracted the attention of some of the passengers, and heard from them later. One girl mentioned it to me when we were in Carcross, Yukon Territory.

My friend said that he played, but declined to perform. I have found that these moody players are usually people who have studied at one time but become lazy and stop practicing. They know a little about music but rather than let anyone find out just how much they know they refuse to play because of sick headaches, untuned instruments or temperamental reasons. My reason for not playing the piano when asked to is simple and cold blooded - stage fright.

After my room-mate had gone to bed I tried to do some more reading. The crowd was thinning out and the boat was getting quiet. As before, reading was not entertaining enough for me and I turned in at eleven o'clock.