TYPICAL AMERICANS--NO DOUBT
Up in Hampstead the world seemed to wheel in its orbit more tranquilly
than in the feverish city which lay at the foot of its slopes. There was
something in its clear, its balsamic air, so cleanly free from the
eternal smoke-clouds of London, that seemed to invite to a repose, to a
leisurely movement in the procession of life. Captain Sarrasin once said
that it reminded him of the pure air of the prairie, almost of the keen
air of the cañons. Captain Sarrasin always professed that he found the
illimitable spaces of the West too tranquillising for him. The sight of
those great, endless fields, the isolation of those majestic mountains,
suggested to him a recluse-like calm which never suited his quick-moving
temper. So he did not very often visit his brother in Hampstead, and the
brother in Hampstead, deeply engrossed in the grave cares of comparative
folk-lore, seldom dropped from his Hampstead eyrie into the troubled
city to seek out his restless brother. Hampstead was just the place for
the folk-lore-loving Sarrasin. No doubt that, actually, human life is
just the same in Hampstead as anywhere else, from Pekin to Peru, tossed
by the same passions, driven onward by the same racking winds of desire,
ambition, and despair. People love and hate and envy, feel mean or
murderous, according to their temper, as much on the slopes of Hampstead
as in the streets of London that lie at its foot. But such is not the
suggestion of Hampstead itself upon a tranquil summer day to the pensive
observer. It seems a peaceful, a sleepy hollow, an amiable elevated
lubber-land, affording to London the example of a kind of suburban
Nirvana.
So while London was fretting in all its eddies, and fretting
particularly for us in the eddy that swirled and circled around the
fortunes of the Dictator, up in Hampstead, at Blarulf's Garth, and in
the adjacent cottage which Mr. Sarrasin had named Camelot, life flowed
on in a tranquil current. The Dictator often came up; whatever the
claims, the demands upon him, he managed to dine one day in every week
with Miss Ericson. Not the same day in every week indeed; the Dictator's
life was inevitably too irregular for that; but always one day,
whichever day he could snatch from the imperious pressure of the growing
plans for his restoration, from the society which still regarded him as
the most royal of royal lions, and, above all, from the society of the
Langleys. However, it did not matter. One day was so like another up in
Hampstead, that it really made no difference whether any particular
event took place upon a Monday, a Tuesday, or a Wednesday; and Miss
Ericson was so happy in seeing so much of her nephew after so long and
blank an absence, that it would never have occurred to her to complain,
if indeed complaining ever found much of a place in her gentle nature.
Whenever the Dictator came now, Mr. Sarrasin was always on hand, and
always eager to converse with the wonderful nephew who had come back to
London like an exiled king. To Mr. Sarrasin the event had a threefold
interest. In the first place, the Dictator was the nephew of Miss
Ericson. Had he been the most commonplace fellow that had ever set one
foot before the other, there would have been something attractive about
him to Sarrasin because of his kinship with his gentle neighbour. In the
second place, he knew now that his brother, the brother whom he adored,
had declared himself on the Dictator's side, and had joined the
Dictator's party. In the third place, if no associations of friendship
or kinship had linked him in any way with the fortunes of the Dictator,
the mere fact of his eventful rule, of his stormy fortunes, of the rise
and fall of such a stranger in such a strange land, would have fired all
that was romantic, all that was adventurous, in the nature of the quiet,
stay-at-home gentleman, and made him as eager a follower of the
Dictator's career as if Ericson had been Jack with the Eleven Brothers,
or the Boy who Could not Shiver. So Mr. Sarrasin spent the better part
of six days in the week conversing with Miss Ericson about the Dictator;
and on the day when Ericson came to Hampstead, Sarrasin was sure, sooner
or later, to put in an appearance at Blarulf's Garth, and to beam in
delighted approbation upon the exile of Gloria.
One day Mr. Sarrasin came into Miss Ericson's garden with a countenance
that beamed with more than usual benignity. But the benignity was, as it
were, blended with an air of unwonted wonder and exhilaration which
consorted somewhat strangely with the wonted calm of the excellent
gentleman's demeanour. He had a large letter in his hand, which he kept
flourishing almost as wildly as if he were an enthusiastic spectator at
a racecourse, or a passenger outward bound waving a last good-night to
his native land.
It happened to be one of the days when the Dictator had come up from the
strenuous London, and from playing his own strenuous part therein. He
was sitting with Miss Ericson in the garden, as he had sat there on the
first day of his return--that day which now seemed so long ago and so
far away--almost as long ago and as far away as the old days in Gloria
themselves. He was telling her all that had happened during the days
that had elapsed since their last meeting. He spoke, as he always did
now, much of the Langleys, and as he spoke of them Miss Ericson's grave,
kind eyes watched his face closely, but seemed to read nothing in its
unchanged composure. As they were in the middle of their confidential
talk, the French windows of the little drawing-room opened, and Mr.
Sarrasin made his appearance--a light-garmented vision of pleasurably
excited good-humour.
'What _has_ happened to our dear old friend?' Ericson asked the old lady
as Sarrasin came beaming across the grass towards them, fluttering his
letter. 'He seems to be quite excited.'
Miss Ericson laughed as she rose to greet her friend. 'You may be sure
we shall not long be left in doubt,' she said, as she advanced with
hands extended.
Mr. Sarrasin caught both her hands and pressed them warmly. 'I have such
news,' he murmured, 'such wonderful news!' Then he turned his smiling
face in the direction of the Dictator. 'Good-day, Mr. Ericson; wonderful
news! And it concerns _you_ too, in a measure; only in a measure,
indeed, but still in a measure.'
The Dictator's face expressed a smiling interest. He had really grown
quite fond of this sweet-tempered, cheery, childlike old gentleman. Miss
Ericson drew Sarrasin to a seat opposite to her own, and sat down again
with an air of curiosity which suggested that she and her nephew were
waiting for the wonderful news. As she had predicted, they had not long
to wait. Mr. Sarrasin having plunged into the subject on the moment of
his arrival, could think of nothing else.
'I have a letter here,' he said; '_such_ a letter! Whom do you think it
is from? Why, from no less a person than Professor Flick, who is, as of
course _you_ know, the most famous authority on folk-lore in the whole
of the West of America.'
Sarrasin paused and looked at them with an air of triumph. He evidently
expected them to say something. So Ericson spoke.
'I am ashamed to say,' he confessed, 'that I have never heard the
honoured name of Professor Flick before.'
Mr. Sarrasin looked a trifle dashed. 'I was in hopes you might have
known,' he said, 'for his name and his books are of course well known to
me. But no doubt you have had little time for such study. Anyhow, we
shall soon know him personally, both you and I; you probably even sooner
than I.'
'Indeed!' said Ericson. 'How am I to come to know him? I am not very
strong on folk-lore.'
'Why?' answered Mr. Sarrasin. 'Because he is stopping in your hotel.
This letter which I have received from him this morning is dated from
Paulo's Hotel, the chosen home apparently of all illustrious persons.'
The Dictator smiled. 'I dare not claim equality with Professor Flick,
and I fear I might not recognise him if I met him in the corridors, or
on the stairs. I must inquire about him from Miss Paulo.'
'Do, do,' said Mr. Sarrasin. 'But he will come here. Of course he will
come here. He writes to me a most flattering letter, in which he does me
the honour to say that he has read with pleasure my poor tractates on
"The Survival of Solar Myths in Kitchen Customs," and on "The Probable
Patagonian Origin of 'A Frog he would a-wooing go.'" He is pleased to
express a great desire to make my acquaintance. I wonder if he has heard
of my brother? Oisin must have been in Sacramento and Omaha and all the
other places.'
'I should think he was sure to have met your brother,' said the
Dictator, feeling he was expected to say something.
'If not, I must introduce my brother,' Mr. Sarrasin said joyously.
'Fancy anyone being introduced to anybody through me!'
Miss Ericson had listened quietly, with an air of smiling interest,
while Mr. Sarrasin was giving forth his joyful news. Now she leaned
forward and spoke.
'What do you propose to do in honour of this international episode?'
she asked. There was a slender vein of humour in Miss Ericson's
character, and she occasionally exercised it gently at the expense of
her friend's hobby. Mr. Sarrasin always enjoyed her mild banter hugely.
Now, as ever, he paid it the tribute of the cheeriest laughter.
'That is excellent,' he said; 'International Episode is excellent. But,
you see,' he went on, growing suddenly grave, 'it really _is_ something
of an international affair after all. Here we have an eminent American
scholar----'
'Who is naturally anxious to make the acquaintance of an eminent English
scholar,' the Dictator suggested.
Mr. Sarrasin's large fair face flushed pink with pleasure.
'You are too good, Mr. Ericson, too good. But I feel that I must do
something for our distinguished friend, especially as he has done me the
honour to single me out for so gratifying a mark of his approval. I
think that I shall ask him to dinner.' And Mr. Sarrasin looked
thoughtfully at his audience to solicit their opinion.
'A very good idea,' said the Dictator. 'Nothing cements literary or
political friendship like judicious dining. Dining has a folk-lore of
its own.'
'But don't you think,' suggested Miss Ericson, 'that as this gentleman,
Professor----'
'Flick,' prompted Mr. Sarrasin.
'Thank you; Professor Flick. That, as Professor Flick is a stranger, and
a distinguished stranger, it is your duty, my dear Mr. Sarrasin, to call
upon him at his hotel?'
Mr. Sarrasin bowed again. 'Thank you, Miss Ericson, _thank_ you. You
always think of the right thing. Of course it is obviously my duty to
pay my respects to Professor Flick at his hotel, which happens also to
be our dear friend's hotel. And the sooner the better, I suppose.'
'The sooner the visit the stronger the compliment, of course,' said Miss
Ericson.
'That decides me,' said Mr. Sarrasin. 'I will go this very day.'
'Then let us go into town together,' the Dictator suggested. 'I must be
getting back again.' For this was one of those days on which Ericson
came out early to Blarulf's Garth and left after luncheon. The
suggestion made Mr. Sarrasin beam more than ever.
'That will be delightful,' he said, with all the conviction of a
schoolboy to whom an unexpected holiday has been promised.
'I have my cab outside,' the Dictator said. Ericson liked tearing round
in hansom cabs, and could hardly ever be induced to make use of one of
the hotel broughams.
So the two men took affectionate leave of Miss Ericson and passed
together out of the gate. There were two cabs in sight--one waiting for
Ericson, the other in front of Sarrasin's Camelot Cottage. Two men had
got out of the cab, and were asking some questions of the servant at the
door.
'These must be your friends of the Folk-Lore,' Ericson said.
'Why--God bless me--I suppose so! Never heard of such promptness. Will
you excuse me a moment? Can you wait? Are you pressed for time? It may
not be they, you know, after all.'
'Oh, yes, I'll wait; I am in no breathless hurry.'
Then Sarrasin went over and accosted the two men. Evidently they were
the men he had guessed them to be, for there was much bowing and shaking
of hands and apparently cordial and effusive talk. Then the whole trio
advanced towards Ericson. He saw that one of the men was big,
fair-haired, and large-bearded, and that he wore moony spectacles, which
gave him something of the look of Mr. Pickwick grown tall. The other man
was slim and closely shaven, except for a yellowish moustache. There was
nothing very striking about either of them.
'Excellency,' the good Sarrasin said, in his courtliest and yet simplest
tones, 'I ask permission to present to you two distinguished American
scholars--Professor Flick of Denver and Sacramento, and Mr. Andrew J.
Copping of Omaha. These gentlemen will be proud to have the honour of
meeting the patriot Dictator of Gloria, whose fame is world-renowned.'
'Excellency,' said Professor Flick, 'I am proud to meet you.'
'Excellency,' said Mr. Andrew J. Copping, 'I am proud to meet you.'
'Gentlemen,' Ericson said, 'I am very glad to meet you both. I have been
in your country--indeed, I have been all over it.'
'And yet it is a pretty big country, sir,' the Professor observed, with
a good-natured smile, as that of a man who kindly calls attention to the
fact that one has made himself responsible for rather a large order.
'It is, indeed,' Ericson assented, without thought of disputation; 'but
I have been in most of its regions. My own interests, of course, are in
South America, as you would know.'
'As we know now, sir,' the Professor replied, 'as we know now,
Excellency. I am ashamed to say that we specialists have a way of
getting absorbed right up in our own topics, and my friend and I know
hardly anything of politics or foreign affairs. Why, Mr. Sarrasin,' and
here the Professor suddenly turned to Sarrasin, as if he had something
to say that would specially interest him above all other men, 'do you
know, sir, that I sometimes fail to remember who is the existing
President of the United States?'
'Well, I am sure,' said Sarrasin, 'I don't know at this moment the name
of the present Lord Mayor of London.'
'And that is how I had known nothing about the career of your Excellency
until quite lately,' the Professor blandly explained. 'I think it wrong,
sir--a breach of truth, sir--that a man should pretend to any knowledge
on any subject which he has not got. Of course, since I have been in
Paulo's Hotel I have heard all about your record, and it is a pride and
a privilege to me to make your acquaintance. And we need hardly say,
sir, my friend and I, what a surprise it is to have the honour of making
your acquaintanceship on the occasion of the first visit we have
ventured to pay to the house of our distinguished friend Professor
Sarrasin.'
'Not a professor,' said Sarrasin, with a mild disclaiming smile. 'I have
no claim to any title of any kind.'
'Fame like yours, sir,' the Professor gravely said, 'requires no title.
In our far-off West, among all true votaries of folk-lore, the name of
Sarrasin is, sir--well, is a household word.'
'I am pleased to hear you say so,' the blushing Sarrasin murmured; 'I
will frankly confess that I am delighted. But I own that I am greatly
surprised.'
'Our folks when they take up a subject study it right through,' the
Professor affirmed. 'Sir, we should not have sought you if we had not
known of you. We knew of you, and we have sought you.'
There was no gainsaying this. Sarrasin could not ignore his fame.
'But you were going to the City, sir, with your illustrious friend.' An
American hardly ever understands the Londoner's localisation of 'the
City,' and when he speaks of a visit to Berkeley Square would call it
going to the City. 'Please do not let us interrupt your doubtless highly
important mission.'
'It was only a mission to call on you at Paulo's Hotel,' Sarrasin said;
'and his Excellency was kind enough to offer to drive me there. Now that
you are here you have completed my mission for the moment. Shall we not
go in?'
'I am afraid I must get back to town,' Ericson said.
'Surely--surely--our friends will quite understand how much your time
is taken up.'
'Much of it taken up to very little profit of any kind,' Ericson said
with a smile. 'But to-day I have some rather important things to look
after. I am glad, however, that I did not set about looking after them
too soon to see your American visitors, Mr. Sarrasin.'
'Just a moment,' Sarrasin eagerly said, stammering in the audacity of
his venture. 'One part of my purpose in seeking out Professor Flick,
and--Mr.--Mr. Andrew J. Copping--of Omaha--yes--I think I am right--of
Omaha--was to ask these gentlemen if they would do me the favour of
dining with me on the earliest day we can fix--not here, of course--oh,
no--I could not think of bringing them out here again; but at the
Folk-Lore Club, the only club, gentlemen, with which I have the honour
to be connected----'
'Sir, you do us too much honour,' the Professor gravely said, 'and any
day that suits you shall be made suitable to us.'
'Suitable to us,' Mr. Copping solemnly chimed in.
'And I was thinking,' Sarrasin said, turning to Ericson, who was now
becoming rather eager to get away, 'that if we could prevail upon his
Excellency to join us he might be interested in our quaint little club,
to say nothing of an evening with two such distinguished American
scholars, who, I am sure----'
'I shall be positively delighted,' Ericson said, 'if you can only
persuade Hamilton to agree to the night and to let me off. Hamilton is
my friend who acts as private secretary to me, Professor Flick; and, as
I am informed you sometimes say in America, he bosses the show.'
'I believe, sir, that is a phrase common among the less educated of our
great population,' Professor Flick conceded.
'Quite so,' said Ericson, beginning to think the Professor of Folk-Lore
rather a prig.
'Then that is all but arranged,' Sarrasin said, flushing with joy and
only at the moment having one regret--that the Folk-Lore Club did not
take in ladies as guests, and that, therefore, there was no use in his
thinking of asking Miss Ericson to join the company at his dinner party.
'Well, the basis of negotiation seems to have been very readily accepted
on both sides,' Ericson said, with a feeling of genuine pleasure in his
heart that he was in a position to do anything that could give Sarrasin
a pleasure, and resolving within himself that on that point at least he
would stand no nonsense from Hamilton.
So they all parted very good friends. Sarrasin and the two Americans
disappeared into Camelot, and Ericson drove home alone. As he drove he
was thinking over the Americans. What a perfect type they both were of
the regulation American of English fiction and the English stage! If
they could only go on to the London stage and speak exactly as they
spoke in ordinary life they must make a splendid success as American
comic actors. But, no doubt, as soon as either began to act, the
naturalness of the accent and the manner and the mode of speech would
all vanish and something purely artificial would come up instead. Still,
he wondered how it came about that distinguished scholars, learned above
all things in folk-lore--a knowledge that surely ought to bring
something cosmopolitan with it--should be thus absolutely local, formal,
and typical of the least interesting and least appreciative form of
provincial character in America. 'It is really very curious,' he said to
himself. 'They seem to me more like men acting a stiff and conventional
American part than like real Americans. But, of course, I have never met
much of that type of American.' He soon put the question away, and
thought of other people than Professor Flick and Mr. Andrew J. Copping.
He was interested in them, however--he could not tell why--and he was
glad to have the chance of meeting them at dinner with dear old Sarrasin
at the Folk-Lore Club; and he was wondering whether they would relax at
all under the genial influence, and become a little less like type
Americans cut out of wood and moved by clockwork, and speaking by
mechanical contrivance. Ericson had a good deal of boyish interest in
life, and even in small things, left in him, for all his Dictatorship
and his projects, and his Gloria, and the growing sentiment that
sometimes made him feel with a start and a pang that it was beginning to
rival Gloria itself in its power of absorption.