on the dining-table filled with flowers, Jimmie would let us," to which
she replied, "Fancy!"

The table was very pretty that night. We had orange and black satin
ribbon down the middle of it and across the sides, finishing in big
bows. The centrepiece was made of black-eyed Susans. We women wore
orange and black wherever we could, and the men wore their sweaters as
they had been instructed. The dinner was slow in coming on, so between
courses we got up and danced. Then the men sang college songs, much to
the scandalisation of our English friends on the next boats, who seemed
to regard dinner as a sacrament. Peters, the butler, would lie in wait
for us while we were dancing, to whisper as we careered past him:

"Miss, the fowl is getting cold," or "Miss, the ice cream is getting
warm," but he did it once too often, so Bee waltzed on his foot. Whereat
he limped off and we saw no more of him.

Soon the professional entertainers who ply up and down the river during
Henley week discovered the "Ammurikins," as they called us, and we had
our first encounter that night with the Thames nigger, a creature
painfully unlike that delightful commodity at home. The Thames nigger is
generally a cockney covered with blackening, which only alters his skin
and does not change his accent. To us it sounded deliciously funny to
hear this self-styled African call us "Leddies," and say "Halways" and
say "'Aven't yer, now?" They sang in a very indifferent manner, but were
rather quick in their retorts.

Our large uninvited, but welcome audience, who had drawn so near that
they could not use their oars and only pulled their boats along by the
gunwales of the other boats, laughed at these witticisms rather