"I am reminded of an old adage," she read, "to the effect that one
should never cross a bridge before arriving at it. Since I bade
good-by to you, up to this very evening, I have been plodding over a
bridge that didn't exist, much to my own discomfort. You were with me
when I received the message ordering me home to England, and I don't
know whether or not I succeeded in suppressing all signs of my own
perturbation, but we have in the Navy now a man who does not hesitate
to overturn a court martial, and so I feared a re-opening of the Rock
in the Baltic question, which might have meant the wrecking of my
career. I had quite made up my mind, if the worst came to the worst,
to go out West and become a cow-boy, but a passenger with whom I
became acquainted on the 'Enthusiana' informed me, to my regret, that
the cow-boy is largely a being of the past, to be met with only in the
writings of Stewart Edward White, Owen Wister, and several other
famous men whom he named. So you see, I went across the ocean
tolerably depressed, finding my present occupation threatened, and my
future uncertain.
"When I arrived in London I took a room at this Club, of which I have
been a member for some years, and reported immediately at the
Admiralty. But there, in spite of all diligence on my part, I was
quite unable to learn what was wanted of me. Of course, I could have
gone to my Uncle, who is in the government, and perhaps he might have
enlightened me, although he has nothing to do with the Navy, but I
rather like to avoid Uncle Metgurne.
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