We thought of telling you about the things that most interested a
British friend of ours during the first hours of his first visit to
this country.
Perhaps first of all we should give you an inkling of what kind of chap
he is. He’s a Welshman, an Oxford man, served in the war as a captain
in the Highland Light Infantry, was awarded the Military Cross, is now
in the wholesale tobacco business, is an ardent reader, and we daren’t
mention his name. He’s over here to study conditions in the world of
tobacco.
We went down the bay and boarded the _Baltic_ in the Narrows. We stood
with our friend on what a landsman might call the roof while the ship
came up the harbour. We pointed out Liberty, as she emerged from the
sunlit wintry haze. At first glimpse, coming in from sea, she has
rather a forbidding mien--her gesture seems one of warning. Then, as
you come nearer, she seems to be holding up a cocktail shaker. But we
promised to give our friend’s impressions, not our own.
The first things he wanted to have pointed out to him were the
Woolworth Tower and the Brooklyn Bridge. Brooklyn engaged his fancy
more than the Jersey shore--probably on account of the Walt Whitman
tradition. “I have rather a feeling for Whitman,” he said. He was quiet
as we passed the long profile of downtown skyscrapers, but we saw that
he was inwardly meditating. He wanted to know about all the water tanks
on top of the buildings, especially on the Jersey side. “You people
seem very keen about water,” he said. He was hugely pleased with the
way the tugs got the _Baltic_ into her berth.
He wondered whether, before landing, we had better dispose of a little
toddy he had in his pocket flask. He had heard that if any usquebaugh
were found, the officials would confiscate the flask. We agreed that it
would be better not to take any chances on this matter. He was greatly
surprised and delighted with the rapidity and courtesy of the customs
examination. We got away from the pier with no more trouble, he said,
than we would have had in arriving at a railway terminal in London.
We took a taxi, bound for Penn. Station, and then decided to prolong
the ride by going down Fifth Avenue to Washington Square, and up again.
He remarked that the street paving near the docks was no better than it
is in Liverpool. He was charmed by the chauffeur’s air of camaraderie.
The latter, hearing through the open window that this was an exploring
expedition, began offering most friendly suggestions as to nice long
rides we might take, to Central Park, for instance. “Take him to see
the skaters, he’ll enjoy that,” said the chauffeur. This friendly
informality on the part of brakemen, soda jerkers, cab drivers, ticket
choppers, shop girls, and all such public servants delighted him.
Madison Square appealed to him, for he is an admirer of O. Henry.
“That’s where the old tramps sit on the benches, isn’t it?” he said. He
was anxious to see a “surface car,” for he had read about them in _The
Four Million_. The L did not seem to interest him so much. In a drug
store, he was excited by the little whirling instrument that mixed our
“frosted chocolate.” The lighting, spaciousness, and attractive display
in the department stores tickled him. The Penn. Station gave him
extraordinary pleasure. Chiefly, we thought, he was struck by a general
spaciousness and lack of hurry everywhere, in the traffic, in the
shops, etc. When we asked him what he wanted to see, he said, “I want
to see some of you _hustling_.” We looked everywhere, but could find
no one hustling. Like a candid observer, however, he noticed one thing
which is not beneath the attention of any student of human manners.
“Your people have rather a fine line in legs,” he said.
We pointed proudly to the Public Library (but could not bear to tell
him that the City has again cut its appropriation for buying new
books). He praised the large windows at the backs of the taxicabs,
making it possible to see what was going on behind the car. In Madison
Square he was particularly delighted by Diana, who seemed just then to
be aiming her gilded arrow at the pale, low-swimming daylight moon.
He asked us whether we thought he should subscribe to the _Saturday
Evening Post_ and the _Literary Digest_. Both these journals, in some
way or other, had come prominently to his attention at his home in
Cheshire. _Harper’s_ and _The Century_, he said, he frequently reads.
He thought it was a bit unfair of the advertisers (this was in the Long
Island train) to take advantage of public attention by issuing a card
with the announcement NOTICE TO PASSENGERS, looking very like official
information, which turned out to be a chewing gum ad. We told him about
the card in the subway which says PASSENGERS CHANGE HERE and then adds
“to ---- Union Suits.” This amused him, but we could see that he didn’t
think it quite sporting. He was highly diverted by the little signs at
the subway ticket booths--_Sing Out How Many_ and _The Voice with the
Smile Wins_. He was quite startled to learn that the author of Trivia
(one of his favourite books) is an American. He was pleased by the
informality of the Long Island conductor, who, seeing a lady friend
among the passengers, sat down with her between stations and had a
social chat.
Standing at the front of a subway train as it roared through the
tunnel from Brooklyn seemed to give him innocent happiness. Again he
commented, in the downtown region, on the general air of order and
good management in the conduct of the traffic. He could see none of
the brutal scurry that he had been taught to expect. Going up the
Woolworth Tower was the greatest adventure of these few hours. This,
we think, he will not soon forget. He was greatly pleased, being
himself a householder, with the American kitchen. He thought it very
well planned. Jericho cider he praised without reserve. A revolving
apparatus for airing clothes in the back garden pleased him mightily.
Delightful fellow, blessings upon him!
It is visits such as his that add to the stock of true international
understanding.
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