When the question of my own references came up I begged in a humorous
way that, having heard J. P.'s views about the value of testimonials, my
friends should be spared the useless task of eulogizing me.
"No, my God!" exclaimed J. P. "None of them shall be spared. What I said
about testimonials is all perfectly true; but it only serves to show
what sort of person a man must be who can't even get testimonials. No,
no; if a man brings references it proves nothing; but if he can't, it
proves a great deal."
Our voyage to New York was marred by but one distressing feature, the
behavior of two infants, one of whom cried all day and the other all
night. J. P. stood it very well. I think he regarded it as one of the
few necessary noises. He suffered from it, of course, but the only
remark he ever made to me about it was:
"I really think that one of the most extraordinary things in the world
is the amount of noise a child can make. Here we are with a sixty-mile
gale blowing and some ten thousand horse-power engines working inside
the ship, and yet that child can make itself heard from one end of the
boat to the other. I think there must be two of them; the sound is not
quite the same at night. Now, Mr. Ireland, do, just for the fun of it,
find out about that.
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