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Show TIPS ON SHIPBOARD. Upon a transatlantic steamship, as elsewhere, the taste for tips is shared by all the unreadable line] in an eminent degree. They seem to select their victims as they come on board. It is evident, moreover that early on the first day, within the inner precincts of the pantry, in secret conclave assembled, they lay out the programme [program] for the voyage, and solemnly ratify and confirm to one another those cues which instinct and experience alike encourage them respectively to work up. Insensibly, as time passes, there steals through voyager's soul the impression that somehow he has come to be somebody's man, and that invisible toils are being woven around him, growing stronger every hour. As the end of the voyage approaches, the chains become evident to all, while the fell agent of this enslavement alternately appears elated or depressed by hopes and fears. Sometimes an amusing scene is witnessed when the entire corps of waiters draw up in a kind of military order as the passengers go on shore. Then the successful manipulators of men put on their best smiles, while the less expert assume the mask of the Tragic Muse, looking, not corkscrews, but daggers. In a corner it would not be unprofessional for the interested party to suggest to the voyager the propriety of remembering the waiter, but more than one quizzical, cold-blooded individual has improved such an occasion by saying, while scanning the victim from head to feet, "Yes, I think I shall be able to remember you." This, however, would prove hardly more galling than the action of a great New York millionaire, now gone on that voyage whence the traveler ne'er returns, but who, on finishing an ocean trip, in all access of frugality, sent a five-franc piece to the steward, to be divided amongst the corps. Something, however, is to be said on the other side, for there is, perhaps, nothing that tries the temper more than this business of tips. Often is the tourist's soul stirred with righteous wrath by the beggarly and indefensible efforts so incessantly employed to deplete his purse. <br><br> B.F. De Costa, in Harper's Magazine. |