Lord Lymington, M.P., relates the following amusing tale of his
experience with an inquiring and hospitable gentleman in Arkansas:—“He
introduced himself to me very kindly on learning that I was a traveller
and an Englishman, and offered me the hospitalities of the town. It was
very obliging of him, but unfortunately I could not stay, so we had a
chat while I was waiting for the train. During this chat his eye fell on
a portmanteau of mine which I had caused to be marked, for convenience
sake and easy identification, with the cabalistic figures 120. This he
scanned for some time with ill-concealed curiosity, and finally, turning
to me, said rather abruptly, ‘If I am not mistaken, you are a nobleman,
are you not?’ I admitted that such was my unhappy lot. ‘Then,’ he said,
‘I presume that number there on your valise is what they call in the
nobility armorial bearings, is it not—in fact, your crest?’ ‘Hardly
that,’ I modestly replied. ‘A number is only borne as a crest, I
believe, by much more illustrious persons—for example, the Beast in the
Apocalypse.’ ‘Oh!’ he replied, and then, after meditating a moment or
two, asked, ‘Have your family been long in England?’ ‘Yes,’ I said,
‘they have been there for some time. But why do you ask?’ ‘Perhaps the
number refers,’ he replied, ‘to the number of generations, just as they
recite them in the Old Testament, you know?’ ‘Yes,’ I unhesitatingly and
with prompt mendacity replied, ‘that is exactly it, and I don’t see how
you hit it so cleverly.’ He smiled all over with delight as the train
rushed up, and waved kind farewells to me as long as we were in sight.”