But bigness is mere exaggeration. The
men responsible for these big ships have been moved by considerations of
profit to be made by the questionable means of pandering to an absurd and
vulgar demand for banal luxury--the seaside hotel luxury. One even asks
oneself whether there was such a demand? It is inconceivable to think
that there are people who can't spend five days of their life without a
suite of apartments, cafes, bands, and such-like refined delights. I
suspect that the public is not so very guilty in this matter. These
things were pushed on to it in the usual course of trade competition. If
to-morrow you were to take all these luxuries away, the public would
still travel. I don't despair of mankind. I believe that if, by some
catastrophic miracle all ships of every kind were to disappear off the
face of the waters, together with the means of replacing them, there
would be found, before the end of the week, men (millionaires, perhaps)
cheerfully putting out to sea in bath-tubs for a fresh start. We are all
like that. This sort of spirit lives in mankind still uncorrupted by the
so-called refinements, the ingenuity of tradesmen, who look always for
something new to sell, offers to the public.
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