THE HAVERFORD COMES HOME
Philadelphia's hands were tied in the matter of welcoming the Haverford. What a greeting we could have given her men if they had been permitted to parade through the center of the city, past Independence Hall—the symbol of all they fought for—and down the shining sweep of Broad street! And yet, although we were morosely forbidden to "come in contact with them" (it sounds rather like the orders given to citizens of Coblenz), what a fine human note there was in the mass of humbler citizens that greeted the transport at the foot of Washington avenue. I wish Mr. Baker might have been there—the scene would have made him more tender toward those loyal Philadelphians who don't quite see why most of the transports should dock at—well, at another Atlantic port!
But I hadn't intended to go down to see the Haverford come in. I have traveled on her myself and know her genial habits of procrastination. I shrewdly suspected she would arrive at her dock long after the hour announced. Days ago, when we were told she would arrive on the 27th, I smiled knowingly. When she was off the Capes and word was telegraphed of a "disabled steering gear," I chuckled. The jovial old ship was herself again! It is almost incredible that an enemy submarine should have dared to fire a tin fish at her. I should think a cautious, subaqueous com-
