Alice Caldwell Hegan Rice,
The Honorable Percival
“ Percival stirred uneasily. His tea and toast were long in coming, and a certain haunted look was dawning on his face. Through the port-holes he could see the deep-purple sky rising to give place to still deeper-purple sea as the ship rose with sickening regularity. He took an olive. "Isn't there a good deal of motion?" asked Mrs. Weston, a delicate, appealing blonde, whose opinions were always tentative until they received the stamp of masculine approval. "Motion!" thundered the captain, bringing down a huge tattooed fist on the table. "Isn't that like a woman? ”
