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                                  "Are  you  English?"  I  asked,  perhaps  tactlessly.  "Rather.  You
                            don't think I  look like an American, do you? British to the backbone,
                            that's what I am."
                                  To prove it, Mr. Kelada took out of his pocket a passport and
                            airily waved it under my nose.
                                              1
                                  King George  has many strange subjects. Mr. Kelada was short
                            and of a sturdy build, clean-shaven and dark-skinned, with a fleshy
                            hooked nose and very large, lustrous and liquid eyes. His long black
                            hair was sleek and curly. He spoke with a fluency in which there was
                            nothing English and his gestures were exuberant. I felt pretty sure that
                            a closer inspection of that British passport would have betrayed the
                            fact that Mr. Kelada was born under a bluer sky than is generally seen
                            in England.
                                  "What will you have?" he asked me.
                                                                      2
                                  I looked at him doubtfully. Prohibition  was in force and to all
                            appearance  the  ship  was  bone-dry.  When  I  am  not  thirsty  I  do  not
                            know  which  I  dislike  more,  ginger  ale  or  lemon  squash.  But  Mr.
                            Kelada flashed an oriental smile at me.
                                  "Whisky and soda or a dry martini, you have only to say the
                            word."
                                  From each of his big pockets he fished a flask and laid it on the
                            table  before  me.  I  chose  the  martini,  and  calling  the  steward  he
                            ordered a tumbler of ice and a couple of glasses. "
                                  "A very good cocktail," I said.
                                  "Well,  there  are  plenty  more  where  that  came  from,  and  if
                            you've got any friends on board, you tell them you've got a pal who's
                            got all the liquor in the world."
                                  Mr.  Kelada  was  chatty.  He  talked  of  New  York  and  of  San
                            Francisco.  He  discussed  plays,  pictures,  and  politics.  He  was
                                                     3
                            patriotic.  The  Union  Jack   is  an  impressive  piece  of  drapery,  but
                            when  it  is  flourished  by  a  gentleman  from  Alexandria  or  Beirut,  I
                            cannot  but  feel  that  it  loses  somewhat  in  dignity.  Mr.  Kelada  was
                            familiar. I do not wish to, put on airs, but I cannot help feeling that it
                            is seemly a total stranger to put "mister " before my name when he
                            addresses me. Mr. Kelada, doubtless to set me at my ease, used no


                            1
                              King George V (1910—1936).
                            2
                              Prohibition: “Сухий закон”
                            3
                              The Union Jack: Британський прапор
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