“Is it a planet?”
By George, Peters, think of it! “_Planet_?” says I; “it’s a city. And
moreover, it’s one of the biggest and finest and—”
“There, there!” says he, “no time here for conversation. We don’t deal
in cities here. Where are you from in a _general_ way?”
“Oh,” I says, “I beg your pardon. Put me down for California.”
I had him _again_, Peters! He puzzled a second, then he says, sharp and
irritable—
“I don’t know any such planet—is it a constellation?”
“Oh, my goodness!” says I. “Constellation, says you? No—it’s a State.”
“Man, we don’t deal in States here. _Will_ you tell me where you are
from _in general—at large_, don’t you understand?”
“Oh, now I get your idea,” I says. “I’m from America,—the United States
of America.”
Peters, do you know I had him _again_? If I hadn’t I’m a clam! His face
was as blank as a target after a militia shooting-match. He turned to an
under clerk and says—
“Where is America? _What_ is America?”