A Purser’S “If”

(With apologies to Rudyard Kipling.) If you can keep your head when half the Boat Train Lose steamer trunks, and blame the loss on you; If you can he mistaken for the Boatswain, And not get rattled at that error, too.

If you can dance with those not young or pretty, Stick at your job for twenty hours on end, And help to organise the Sports Commit tee, Yet still count every passenger your friend.

If you can drink till dawn and not be blotto, Avoid the Boat Deck when the moon is

bright,

And never quite forget that little motto Which runs : “The passenger is always right.”

If you can keep your temper and your hooks straight, Give sound advice to those who dread the Bight, Deal tactfully with Captain, or with cook’s mate, And answer silly questions day and night.

If you can meet the ship’s Vamp—and resist her, Learn to look on at sports, yet play the game, Fall for one girl, though you dislike her sister, And treat those two inseparables the same.

If you can act just like an elder brother To hopeful maids who want to learn a lot, And steer to leeward of some scheming mother Who’s marked you plainly as a sitting shot.

If you can wear a look of deepest sorrow When last Good-byes are said to Mel bourne’s shore, Then work like blazes —knowing on the morrow You must give welcome to two hundred more.

If you can flirt with dowagers through dinner, To doubtful ladies be a bit high-hat, Yours is the ship, and every soul that’s in her, And —which is more — you’ll be a Diplo mat.