At the
commencement of a sea voyage, before the male traveller knows half a
dozen of his fellow passengers by sight, the average woman will have
started a couple of enmities, and laid in material for one or two
more--provided, of course, that there are sufficient women aboard to
permit quarrelling in the plural. If there's no one else she will
quarrel with the stewardess. This experiment of yours is to run for six
months; in less than five weeks there will be war to the knife declaring
itself in half a dozen different directions."
"Oh, come, there are only eight women in the party; they won't pick
quarrels quite so soon as that," protested Reggie.
"They won't all originate quarrels, perhaps," conceded the Major, "but
they will all take sides, and just as Christmas is upon you, with its
conventions of peace and good will, you will find yourself in for a
glacial epoch of cold, unforgiving hostility, with an occasional Etna
flare of open warfare. You can't help it, old boy; but, at any rate, you
can't say you were not warned."
The first five weeks of the venture falsified Major Dagberry's prediction
and justified Reggie's optimism. There were, of course, occasional small
bickerings, and the existence of certain jealousies might be detected
below the surface of everyday intercourse; but, on the whole, the women-
folk got on remarkably well together.
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