A Voyage Of Consolation by Sara Jeannette Duncan (rm book recommendations .txt) 📕

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."

The Senator,  Discovering To His Surprise That The Hotel Clerk Was A

Lady,  Lifted His Hat. He Did Not Appear To Be Surprised,  That Wasn'T The

Senator'S Way,  But He Forgot What He Had To Say,  Which Proved It. While

He Was Hesitating She Looked At Him Humorously And Said "Good Evening,

Sir!" She Was A Florid Person Who Wore This Sense Of Humour Between Hard

Blue Eyes And An Iron Jaw. Momma Took A Passionate Dislike To Her On The

Spot.

"Oh,  Then You Do," Said Poppa. "You Parlay Anglay. That'S A Good Thing

I'M Sure,  For I Know Mighty Little Fransay. May I Ask What Sort Of

Accommodation You Can Give Mrs. Wick,  Miss Wick,  And Myself For

To-Night? Anything On The First Floor?"

"What Rooms You Require Are One Double One Single,  Yes? Certainly.

Francois,  _Trente-Cinq Et Trente-Huit_." She Handed Francois The Keys

And Her Sense Of Humour Disappeared In a Smile Which Told Poppa That He

Might,  If He Liked,  Consider Her A Fine Woman. He,  Wishing Doubtless To

Bask In It To The Fullest Extent,  Produced His Book Of Tickets.

"I Expect You'Ve Seen These Before," He Said,  Apparently For The

Pleasure Of Continuing The Conversation.

As Her Eye Fell Upon Them A Look Of Startled Cynicism Suddenly Replaced

The Smile. Her Cynicism Was Paradoxical,  She Was So Large,  And Sound And

Wholesome,  And The More Irritating On This Account.

"You 'Ave The Coupons!" She Exclaimed. "Ah-A-Ah!" In a Crescendo Of

Astonishment At Our Duplicity. "Then I 'Ave Made One Mistake. Francois!

Those First Floor Rooms They Are Already Taken. But On The Third Floor

Are Two Good Beautiful Rooms. There Is Also The Lift--You Can Use The

Lift."

"I Can'T Dispute With A Lady," Said Poppa,  "But That Is Singular. I

Should Prefer Those First Floor Rooms Which Were Not Taken Until I

Mentioned The Coupons."

"Sare!"

The Lady'S Eye Was Unflinching,  And Poppa Quailed. He Looked Ashamed,  As

If He Had Been Caught In Telling A Story. They Made A Picture,  As He

Stood There Pulling His Beard,  Of American Chivalry And Gallic Guile,

Which Was Almost Pathetic.

"Well," Said He,  "As It'S Necessary That Mrs. Wick Should Lie Down As

Soon As Possible You Might Show Us Those Third Floor Rooms."

Then He Recovered His Dignity And Glanced At Madame More In Sorrow Than

In Anger. "Certainly,  Sare," She Said Severely. "Will You Use The Lift?

For The Lift There Is No Sharge."

"That," Said The Senator,  "Is Real Liberal." In Moments Of Emotion

Poppa Often Dropped Into An Americanism. "If It'S A Serious Offer I

Think We _Will_ Use The Lift."

At A Nod From Madame,  Francois Went Away To Seek The Man Belonging To

The Lift,  And After A Time Returned With Him. The Lady Produced Another

Key,  With Which The Man Belonging To The Lift Unlocked The Door Of The

Brass Cage Which Guarded It.

"You Must Find Strangers Very Dishonest,  Madam," Said The Senator

Courteously As We Stepped Inside,  "To Render Such A Precaution

Necessary."

But Before We Arrived At The Third Floor We Were Convinced That It Was

Unnecessary. It Was Not An Elevator That The Most Burglarious Would Have

Cared To Take Away.

So Many Americans Surrounded The Breakfast Table Next Morning That We

Might Almost Have Imagined Ourselves In chicago. A Small,  Young Priest

With Furtive Brown Eyes Cowered At One Of The Side Tables,  And At

Another A Broad-Shouldered,  Unsmiling Lady,  Dressed In black,  With Brows

And A Slight Moustache To Match,  Dispensed Food To A Sallow And

Shrinking Object Of Preternaturally Serious Aspect Who Seemed To Be Her

Husband,  And A Little Boy Who Kept An Anxious Eye On Them Both. They

Were French,  Too,  But All The People Who Sat Up And Down The Long Middle

Table Belonged To The United States Of America. They Were There In

Groups And In Families Representing Different Localities And Different

Social Positions--As Momma