At least I had a good excuse not to hop around the floor with Algie. I noticed that other ladies had similarly turned him down and he was drowning his sorrows in what looked like a lot of cocktails. I was having my own problems in the drinking department. Cocktails go to my head rather easily and Cy Goldman kept buying rounds of drinks that I didn’t want.

“Come on, honey. Drink up. Put hair on your chest,” he’d say as the glasses lined up beside me. I’d take a sip or two and wondered when it would be impolite to slip away to bed. I looked up in horror as Algie staggered toward me again. He had now taken off his visor and was looking rather bleary-eyed. “I say, Georgie. Care to trip the light fantastic again?” he asked. “It’s a slow waltz this time. Nothing too violent.” But he pronounced the word as “schlow,” and swayed as he said it, nearly knocking over our table.

“You know, I think it’s time you went to bed, Algie,” I said. “If you try to dance again it will be another of your disasters.”

“You may be right, old bean,” he said. “The room is swaying around a bit. Is that me or the ship tilting?”

“It’s you,” I said. “Come on. I’ll lead you out.”

We crossed the ballroom without any major mishaps. “Which deck is your cabin on?” I asked.

“A deck.”

“Oh, so is mine.”

I led him down one flight of stairs and pointed him in the direction of his cabin. Without warning he grabbed me and I found myself on the receiving end of a horribly slobbery kiss. Actually it reminded me of a Labrador we’d had when I was little—but not as pleasant. I struggled to push him away.

“What do you think you’re doing, Algie?”

“Only a little kiss, old bean. For old times’ sake, don’t you know?”

“Just because I was helping you to your cabin didn’t mean that I was inviting that sort of behavior.”

He was still holding me round the waist. “But dash it all, Georgie. You’re a girl and I’m a healthy, red-blooded male and my pater is always telling me to seize the moment, so I did.”

I didn’t quite know whether to laugh or be indignant. “Sorry, but that doesn’t include seizing me. Go on, off to bed.”

“Speaking of beds,” he said, eyeing me with what he hoped was a lecherous leer, “I say. You wouldn’t fancy a spot of the old rumpy pumpy would you? Seeing that our cabins are so close to each other.”

“Thanks awfully, but no,” I replied. This time I couldn’t stifle the grin.

“That’s what all the girls say. They tell me American girls are easier. God, I hope so.” And off he staggered, down the passageway.