AT NIAGARA FALLS.
On his way back from Cleveland, Scott, having the necessary leisure,
stopped a couple of days at Niagara Falls. He registered his name at the
Clifton House, on the Canada side.
He lost no time in visiting the objects of interest connected with the
falls, and at the close of the first day sat on the piazza, with the
falls in sight.
A blond-bearded young man of perhaps twenty-five, evidently an
Englishman, sat near by. He looked at Scott once or twice, as if tempted
to speak, but a certain reticence characteristic of his countrymen
appeared to prevent.
Scott observed this, and made a remark by way of opening a conversation.
"Yes," answered the young man, "you are right. The falls are grand. You
Americans ought to be very proud of them."
"But," said Scott, smiling, "I am not an American."
The Englishman looked surprised, for Scott, though he had only been in
America a year, had come to resemble the people among whom he had cast
his lot.
"What, then, are you?" inquired his new acquaintance, looking puzzled.
"I was born in England."
"Indeed!" said the other. "Then we are countrymen."
"I am glad to know it," said Scott, courteously.
"How long have you been in America, if I may ask?"
"A little more than a year."
"And do you live in Canada?"
"No, I live in New York."
"You are not--in business?" queried the Englishman, noticing his
youthful appearance.
"Oh, yes, I am employed by a New York firm."
"But how do you happen--excuse my asking--to be here? But perhaps it is
your vacation."
"No, I am traveling for the firm. I am a traveling salesman for the
house of Tower, Douglas & Co."
"That is a large firm, I have heard."
"One of the largest in New York."
"I confess I am puzzled. You occupy such a responsible position, and yet
you are so young."
"I believe my case is exceptional. I am the youngest traveler for our
house."
"I rejoice in your success, since you are an English boy. May I ask your
name?"
Scott handed his new acquaintance a card like this:
SCOTT WALTON
Representing
TOWER, DOUGLAS & CO.
NEW YORK.
"Thank you," said the other.
He took from his pocket a card, from which Scott learned that he was
Lord Cecil Grant, Earl of Windermere.
"I am honored in making your acquaintance," said Scott. "May I say that
you seem young to be an earl? I fancied all earls were at least fifty
years of age."
"I wish that I had waited till fifty for my title," said the young
Englishman, gravely; "but my poor father died suddenly, six months ago,
and partly to dissipate my grief I came to America."
"Have you been here long, my lord?" asked Scott, not knowing exactly how
to address his distinguished companion.
"Never mind the title," said the earl, smiling.
"It comes awkwardly to an American to use it, and you are already half
an American."
"What shall I call you, then?"
"You may call me Mr. Grant, if you like. If you come to know me better,
you may call me Cecil. I shall take the liberty, since you are a boy, to
call you Scott."
As he spoke there was a winning smile upon his face, and Scott felt that
he should like him.
"I will try to forget that you are an earl," he said, "and then I shall
feel more at home with you."
"What do you say to a walk, Scott? The evening is too fine to spend
here."
"I shall be delighted."
He put on his hat, and the two sauntered off together. They were both
good walkers, and had covered several miles before they returned to the
hotel.
"I wish I had met you before, Scott," said the earl, familiarly. "Won't
you tell me something about yourself, and your history? I am sure you
have one."
Almost before he knew it, Scott had told the story already familiar to
the reader. The earl listened with evident interest.
"Really," he said, "it is worthy of telling in book form. That uncle of
yours----"
"My mother's cousin," corrected Scott.
"No matter. We will say relative. He must certainly be a mean,
disagreeable fellow, don't you know, and as to your cousin with the
peculiar name----"
"Loammi."
"Yes, I never heard the name before. Well, he must be a cad."
"I think he is," said Scott, smiling; "but I assure you he considers
himself infinitely above me."
"I shall not ask you for an introduction."
"He would like nothing better than to become acquainted with you, Mr.
Grant."
"You compliment me. Well, here we are at the hotel. What are your plans
for to-morrow? I hope you do not leave in the morning?"
"No; I shall spend another day here."
"Why not spend it together?"
"I should like nothing better," said Scott, sincerely.
"Then we will do so. I will secure a carriage in the morning, and we
will make a day of it."
He was as good as his word, and Scott had a delightful time. He almost
succeeded in forgetting his companion's rank, and found him a congenial
companion.
Just after supper, when the earl had gone up to his room, a
pretentious-looking man of middle age, who seemed to be continually
trying to assert his claim to superiority, came up to Scott.
"Boy," he said, "I understand there is an English earl staying at the
hotel?"
"Yes, sir. It is the Earl of Windermere."
"Have you seen him? Could you point him out to me?"
"He has gone up to his room, but will probably be back almost
immediately."
"How shall I know him?"
"He will come up and speak to me, and then we shall probably go out to
walk together."
"Are you a friend of the earl?" asked Mr. Burton, in surprise.
"I think I may call myself so. We have been together all day."
Mr. Burton regarded Scott with new respect. He had unceremoniously
called him "boy," but it was before he knew that he was a friend of an
earl.
"Would you kindly introduce me?" he asked, eagerly.
"I am not quite sure whether he would be willing," returned Scott, with
hesitation.
"Would you mind asking him?"
"If you will let me know your name, sir."
"I am Nathan Burton, of Albany. I have been an alderman," said the
other, consequentially.
"I hope you may yet be mayor," answered Scott, amused.
"Stranger things have happened," rejoined Mr. Burton, complacently. "Did
you come over with the earl?"
"A year earlier," returned Scott, gravely.
From this Mr. Burton inferred that they had been friends on the other
side.
"And your name is----"
"Scott Walton."
"An aristocratic name!" thought the Albany alderman. "Are you related to
the earl?"
"No, sir. We are only friends."
At this moment the earl entered the room, and at once went up to Scott.
"Are you ready for a walk, Scott?" he asked.
"Yes, but first----" And here in a low voice Scott communicated Mr.
Burton's request.
The earl looked around at the alderman and seemed amused.
"Very well," he said, smiling.
At a signal, Mr. Burton approached.
"My lord," said Scott, formally, "allow me to present Mr. Alderman
Burton, of Albany."
Mr. Burton bowed profoundly.
"I am glad to become acquainted with a representative American," said
the earl, in a dignified voice, quite different from his tone in talking
with Scott.
"My lord earl, I feel very much honored to make your acquaintance," said
Mr. Burton, with another profound bow.
"I believe you Americans have no titles," said the earl.
"No, my lord; but I should be in favor of having them."
"In that case, you might become Earl of Albany."
"You do me proud, indeed you do, my lord," said the gratified alderman.
"I am sorry to leave you so soon, but my young friend and I propose to
have a walk."
"Don't let me detain you, my lord. If I might dare to ask one favor----"
"What is it, sir?"
"If you would favor me with your card?"
With a smile, the earl produced the coveted bit of pasteboard and
handed it to the alderman.
When they were fairly out of the hotel, both laughed merrily.
"Do you want me to be as respectful as Mr. Alderman Burton?" asked
Scott.
"No, be yourself, Scott. That will suit me better."