"If there's one thing I hate," said Senator Wick several times in the
discussion of our plans, "it's to see a citizen of the United States
going round advertising himself. If you analyse it, it's a mean thing to
do, for it's no more a virtue to be born American than a fault to be
born anything else. I'm proud of my nationality and my income is a
source of satisfaction to me, but I don't intend to brandish either of
them in the face of Europe."
It was this principle that had induced poppa to buy tourist tickets
second class by rail, first class by steamer, all through, like ordinary
English people on eight or nine hundred a year. Momma and I thought it
rather noble of him and resolved to live up to it if possible, but when
he brought forth a large packet of hotel coupons, guaranteed to produce
everything, including the deepest respect of the proprietors, at ten
shillings and sixpence a day apiece, we thought he was making an
unnecessary sacrifice to the feelings of the non-American travelling
public.
"Two dollars and a half a day!" momma ejaculated. "Were there no more
expensive ones?"
"If there had been," poppa confessed, "I would have taken them. But
these were the best they had. And I understand it's a popular, sensible
way of travelling. I told the young man that the one thing we wished to
avoid was ostentation, and he said that these coupons would be a
complete protection."
"There must be _some_ way of paying more," said momma pathetically,
looking at the paper books of tickets, held together by a quantity of
little holes. "Do they actually include everything?"
"Even wine, I understand, where it is the custom of the hotel to provide
it without extra charge, and in Switzerland honey with your breakfast,"
the Senator responded firmly. "I never made a more interesting purchase.
There before us lie our beds, breakfasts, luncheons, dinners, lights,
and attendance for the next six weeks."
"It is full of the most dramatic possibilities," I remarked, looking at
the packet.
"It seems to me a kind of attempt to coerce Providence," said momma, "as
much as to say, 'Whatever happens to the world, I am determined to have
my bed, breakfast, luncheon, dinner, lights, and attendance for six
weeks to come.' Is it not presumptuous?"
"It's very reasonable," said the Senator, "and that's the principal
thing you've got against it, Augusta. It's remarkably, pictorially
cheap." The Senator put the little books in their detachable cover,
snapped the elastic round them and restored the whole to his inside
pocket.
"You might almost say enjoyably cheap, if you know what I mean. The
inexpensiveness of Europe," he continued, "is going to be a great charm
for me. I intend to revel in it."
I am always discovering points about poppa the existence of which I had
not suspected. His appreciation of the joy of small prices had been
concealed in him up to this date, and I congratulated him warmly upon
its appearance. I believe it is inherent in primitive tribes and in all
Englishmen, but protective tariffs and other influences are rapidly
eradicating it in Americans, who should be condoled with on this point,
more than they usually are.
We were on our way to Paris after a miraculous escape of the Channel. So
calm it was that we had almost held our breaths in our anxiety lest the
wind should rise before we got over. Dieppe lay behind us, and momma at
the window declared that she could hardly believe she was looking out at
Normandy. Momma at the window was enjoying herself immensely in the
midst of Liberty silk travelling cushions, supported by her
smelling-bottle, and engaged apparently in the realisation of
long-cherished dreams.
"There they are in a row!" she exclaimed. "How lovely to see them
standing up in that stiff, unnatural way just as they do in the
pictures."
Poppa and I rushed raptly to the window, but discovered nothing
remarkable.
"To see what, Augusta?" demanded he.
"The Normandy poplars, love. Aren't you awfully disappointed in them?
I am. So wooden!"
[Illustration: Momma was enjoying herself.]
Poppa said he didn't know that he had been relying much on the poplar
feature of the scenery, and returned to his weary search for American
telegrams in a London daily paper.
"Dear me," momma ejaculated, "I _never_ supposed I should see them doing
it! And right along the line of the railway, too!"
"See them doing it!" I repeated, searching the landscape.
"The women working in the fields, darling love. Garnering the grain, all
in that nice moderate shade of blue-electric, shouldn't you call it?
There--there's another! No, you can't see her now. France _is_
fascinating!"
Poppa abruptly folded the newspaper. "I've learnt a great deal more than
I wanted to know about Madagascar," said he, "and I understand that
there's a likelihood of the London voter being called to arms to prevent
High Church trustees introducing candles and incense into the opening
exercises of the public schools. I've read eleven different accounts of
a battle in Korea, and an article on the fauna and flora of Beluchistan,
very well written. And I see it's stated, on good authority, that the
Queen drove out yesterday accompanied by the Princess Beatrice. I don't
know that I ever got more information for two cents in my life. But for
news--Great Scott! I _know_ more news than there is in that paper! The
editor ought to be invited to come over and discover America."
"Here's something about America," I protested, "from Chicago, too. A
whole column--'Movements of Cereals.'"
"Yes, and look at that for a nice attractive headline," responded the
Senator with sarcasm. "'Movements of Cereals!' Gives you a great idea of
pace, doesn't it? Why couldn't they have called it 'Grain on the Go'?"
"Did Mr. McConnell get in for Mayor, or Jimmy Fagan?" I inquired,
looking down the column.
"They don't seem to have asked anybody."
"And who got the Post Office?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"
"Oh!" said momma at the window, "these little gray-stone villages are
too sweet for words. Why talk of Chicago? Mr. McConnell and Mr. Fagan
are all very well at home, but now that the ocean heaves between us, and
your political campaign is over, may we not forget them?"
"Forget Mike McConnell and Jimmy Fagan!" replied the Senator, regarding
a passing church spire with an absent smile. "Well, no, Augusta; as far
as I'm concerned I'm afraid it couldn't be done--at all permanently.
There's too much involved. But I see what you mean about turning the
mind out to pasture when the grazing is interesting--getting in a cud,
so to speak, for reflection afterwards. I see your idea."
The Senator is always business-like. He immediately addressed himself
through the other window to the appreciation of the scenery, and I felt,
as I took out my note-book to record one or two impressions, that he
would do it justice.
"No, momma," I was immediately compelled to exclaim, "you mustn't look
over my shoulder. It is paralysing to the imagination."
"Then I won't, dear. But oh, if you could only describe it as it is! The
ruined chateaux, tree-embosomed----" Momma paused.
"The gray church spires, from which at eventide the Angelus comes
pealing--or stealing," she continued. "Perhaps 'stealing' is better."
"Above all the poplars--the poplars are very characteristic, dear. And
the women toilers in the sunset fields garnering up the golden grain.
You might exclaim, 'Why are they always in blue?' Have you got that
down?"
"They were making hay," poppa corrected. "But I suppose the public won't
know the difference, any more than you did."
Momma leaned forward, clasping her smelling-bottle, and looked out of
the window with a smile of exaltation.
"The cows," she went on, "the proud-legged Norman cows standing
knee-deep in the quiet pools. Have you got the cows down, dear?"
The Senator, at the other window, looked across disparagingly, hard at
work on his beard. He said nothing, but after a time abruptly thrust his
hands in his pockets, and his feet out in front of him in a manner which
expressed absolute dissent. When momma said she thought she would try to
get a little sleep he looked round observantly, and as soon as her
slumber was sound and comfortable he beckoned to me.
"See here," he said, not unkindly, argumentatively. "About those cows.
In fact, about all these pointers your mother's been giving you. They're
all very nice and poetic--I don't want to run down momma's ideas--but
they don't strike me as original. I won't say I could put my finger on
it, but I'm perfectly certain I've heard of the poplars and the women
field labourers of Normandy somewhere before. She doesn't do it on
purpose"--the Senator inclined his head with deprecation toward the
sleeping form opposite, and lowered his voice--"and I don't know that
I'd mention it to you under any other circumstances, but momma's a
fearful plagiarist. She doesn't hesitate anywhere. I've known her do it
to William Shakespeare and the Book of Job, let alone modern authors. In
dealing with her suggestions you want to be very careful. Otherwise
momma'll get you into trouble."
I nodded with affectionate consideration. "I'll make a note of what you
say, Senator," I replied, and immediately, from motives of delicacy, we
changed the subject. As we talked, poppa told me in confidence how much
he expected of the democratic idea in Paris. He said that even the
short time we had spent in England was enough to enable him to detect
the subserviency of the lower classes there and to resent it, as a man
and a brother. He spoke sadly and somewhat bitterly of the manners of
the brother man who shaved him, which he found unjustifiably affable,
and of the inexcusable abasement of a British railway porter if you gave
him a shilling. He said he was glad to leave England, it was
demoralising to live there; you lost your sense of the dignity of
labour, and in the course of time you were almost bound to degenerate
into a swell. He expressed a good deal of sympathy with the aristocracy
on this account, concentrating his indignation upon those who, as it
were, made aristocrats of innocent human beings against their will. It
was more than he would have ventured to say in public, but in talking to
me poppa often mentions what a comfort it is to be his own mouthpiece.
"The best thing about these tourists' tickets is," said the Senator as
we approached Paris, "that they entitle you to the use of an
interpreter. He is said to be found on all station platforms of
importance, and I presume he's standing there waiting for us now. I take
it we're at liberty to tap his knowledge of the language in any moment
of difficulty just as if it were our own."
Ten minutes later the carriage doors were opening upon Paris, and the
Senator's eagle eye was searching the crowded platform for this
official. Our vague idea was that the interpreter would be a conspicuous
and permanent object like a nickle-in-the-slot machine, automatically
arranged to open his arms to tourists presenting the right tickets, and
emit conversation. When we finally detected him, by his cap, he was
shifting uneasily in the midst of a crowd of inquirers. His face was
pale, his beard pointed, his expression that of a person constantly
interrupted in many languages. The crowd was parting to permit him to
escape, when we filled up the available avenue and confronted him.
"Are you the linguist that goes with our tickets?" asked the Senator.
"I am ze interpretare yes, but weez ze tickets I go not, no. All-ways I
stay here in zis place, nowheres I go." He stood at bay, so to speak,
frowning fiercely as he replied, and then made another bolt for liberty,
but poppa laid a compelling hand upon his arm.
"If it's all the same to you," said poppa, firmly, "I've got ladies with
me, and----"
"Yes certainly you get presently your tronks. You see zat door beside
many people? Immediately it open you go and show ze customs man. You got
no duty thing, it is all right. You call one fiacre--carriage--and go at
your hotel."
"Oh," exclaimed momma, "is there any charge on nerve tincture, please?
It's _entirely_ for my personal use."
"It's _only_ on cigars and eau-de-Cologne, isn't it?" I entreated.
"Which door did you say?" asked the Senator. "I'd be obliged if you
would speak more slowly. There's no cause for excitement. From here I
can see fourteen doors, and I saw our luggage go in by _this_ door."
"You don't believe wat I say! Very well! All ze same it is zat door
beside all ze people wat want zere tronks!"
"All right," said the Senator pacifically. "How you do boil over! I tell
you one thing, my friend," he added, as the interpreter washed his hands
of us, "you may be a necessity to the travelling public, but you're not
a luxury, in any sense of the word."