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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 10, Issue 1 (April 1, 1935)
The Lady Of The “Look.”
The Lady Of The “Look.”
Across the way is the lady of luxury, the lily-white aristocrat of the seas, her broad beam sveltly corsetted by the best corsettieres of the Clydebank, her ample bust compressed in a filigree
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of painted steel and varnished timber. Her upper works are a fretwork of staunchions and square ports, falling across her shoulders in a mantle of metal lace. Her nose has a haughty tilt; she seems to sniff her disapproval of the aroma of Commerce. Trade? She would never deign to exert her cranes except to hoist anything less than cases of caviare or crates of “pate de fois gras.” For she mixes only with the best people. Argentinian cattle kings flick a faultless napkin at her tables, Pittsburg millionaires pace her promenades, and milords and their ladies do their daily dozen round her immaculate decks. She stalks into every port with little funnelled flunkeys tooting the tidings of her arrival. She is the Luxury Liner, She seems to examine each city through haughtily upraised lorgnette; she is the lady of the “look.” But she is really a dear old duchess at heart, and even cattle kings are much as you and I beneath their “airtex.” Certainly they offer something of the romance of the rolling pampas and, in spite of their Midas handicap, they must sense something of the glamour which is a part of every land one wasn't born in.
The End of “The Jolly Old Tar.”
(A Tragedy of The High Seize.
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of painted steel and varnished timber. Her upper works are a fretwork of staunchions and square ports, falling across her shoulders in a mantle of metal lace. Her nose has a haughty tilt; she seems to sniff her disapproval of the aroma of Commerce. Trade? She would never deign to exert her cranes except to hoist anything less than cases of caviare or crates of “pate de fois gras.” For she mixes only with the best people. Argentinian cattle kings flick a faultless napkin at her tables, Pittsburg millionaires pace her promenades, and milords and their ladies do their daily dozen round her immaculate decks. She stalks into every port with little funnelled flunkeys tooting the tidings of her arrival. She is the Luxury Liner, She seems to examine each city through haughtily upraised lorgnette; she is the lady of the “look.” But she is really a dear old duchess at heart, and even cattle kings are much as you and I beneath their “airtex.” Certainly they offer something of the romance of the rolling pampas and, in spite of their Midas handicap, they must sense something of the glamour which is a part of every land one wasn't born in.