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

Said,  You Had Only To Look At Their Shoulder

Seams; And Each Group Or Family Received The Advances Of The Next With

The Polite Tolerance,  Head A Little On One Side,  Which Characterises Us

When We Don'T Know Each Other'S Business Standing Or Church Membership;

But The Tide Of Conversation Which Ebbed And Flowed Had A Flavour Which

Made The Table A Geographical Unit. I Say "Flavour," Because There Was

Certainly Something,  But I Am Now Inclined To Think With Mr. Page That

"Accent" Is Rather Too Strong A Word To Describe It. At All Events,  The

Gratification Of Hearing It After His Temporary Exile In Great Britain

Almost Brought Tears To The Senator'S Eyes. There Were Only Three Vacant

Places,  And,  As We Took Them,  Making The National Circle Complete,  A

Little Smile Wavered Round The Table. It Was A Proud,  Conscious Smile;

It Indicated That Though We Might Not Be On Terms Of Intimacy We

Recognised Ourselves To Be Immensely And Uniformly American,  And

Considerably The Biggest Fraction Of The Travelling Public. As Poppa

Said,  The Prevailing Feeling Was Also American. As He Was Tucking His

Napkin Into His Waistcoat,  And Ordering Our Various Breakfasts,  The

Gentleman Who Sat Next To Him Listened--He Could Not Help It--Fidgetted,

And Finally,  With Some Embarrassment,  Spoke.

 

"I Don'T Know,  Sir," He Said,  "Whether You'Re Aware Of It--I Presume

You'Re A Stranger,  Like Myself--But All They _Allow_ For What They Call

Breakfast In This Hotel Is Tea Or Coffee,  Rolls,  And Butter; Everything

Else Is Charged Extra."

 

Poppa Was Touched. As He Said To Me Afterward,  Who But An American

Would Have Taken The Trouble To Tell A Stranger A Thing Like That! Not

An Englishman,  Certainly--He Would See You Bankrupt First! He Disguised

His Own Sophistication,  And Said He Was Very Much Obliged,  And He Almost

Apologised For Not Being Able To Take Advantage Of The Information,  And

Stick To Coffee And Rolls.

 

"But The Fact Is," He Said In Self-Defence,  "We May Get Back For Lunch

And We May Not."

 

"That'S All Right," The Gentleman Replied With Distinct Relief. "I

Didn'T Mind The Omelette Or The Sole,  But When It Came To Fried Chicken

And Strawberries I Just Had To Speak Out. You Going To Make A Long Stay

In Paris?"

 

As They Launched To Conversation Momma And I Glanced At Each Other With

Mutual Congratulation. It Was At Last Obvious That The Senator Was Going

To Enjoy His European Experiences; We Had Been A Little Doubtful About

It. Left To Ourselves,  We Discussed Our Breakfast And The Waiters,  The

Only French People We Could See From Where We Sat,  And Expressed Our

Annoyance,  Which Was Great,  At Being Offered Tooth-Picks. I Was So

Hungry That It Was Only When I Asked For A Third Large Roll That I

Noticed Momma Regarding Me With Mild Disapproval.

 

"I Fear," She Said With A Little Sigh,  "That You Are Thinking Very

Little Of What Is Past And Gone,  Love."

 

"Momma," I Replied,  "Don'T Spoil My Breakfast." When Momma Can Throw An

Emotional Chill Over Anything,  I Never Knew Her To Refrain. "I _Should_

Like That _Garcon_ To Bring Me Some More Bread," I Continued.

 

Momma Sighed Even More Deeply. "You May Have Part Of Mine," She Replied,

Breaking It With A Gesture That Said Such Callousness She Could Not

Understand. Her Manner For The Next Few Minutes Expressed Distinctly

That She,  At Least,  Meant To Do Her Duty By Arthur.

 

Presently From The Other Side Of Poppa Came The Words,  "_Not_ Wick Of

Chicago!"

 

"I Guess I Can'T Deny It," Said Poppa.

 

"Senator Wick?"

 

Poppa Lowered His Voice. "If It'S All The Same To You," He Said,  "Not

For The Present. Just Plain Joshua P. Wick. I'M Not What You Call

Travelling Incognito,  Do You See,  But,  So Far As The U.S. Senate Is

Concerned,  I Haven'T Got It With Me."

 

"Well,  Sir,  I Won'T Mention It Again. But All The Same,  If I May Be

Allowed To Say So,  I Am Pleased To Meet You,  Sir--Very Pleased. I

Suppose They Wired You That Mike Mcconnell'S Got The Post Office."

 

Poppa Held Out His Hand In an Instant Of Speechless Gratitude. "Sir," He

Said,  "They Did Not. Put It There. I Said No Wires And No Letters,  And

I'Ve Been Sorry For It Ever Since. Momma," He Continued,  "Daughter,

Allow Me To Present To You Mr.?--Mr. Malt,  Who Has Heard By Cablegram

That Our Friend Mr. Mcconnell Is Postmaster-General Of Chicago."

 

Momma Was Grateful,  Too,  Though She Expressed It Somewhat More

Distantly. Momma Has A Great Deal Of Manner With Strangers; It Sometimes

Completely Disguises Her Real Feeling Toward Them. I Was Also Grateful,

Though I Merely Bowed,  And Kicked The Senator Under The Table. Nobody

Would Have Guessed From Our Outward Bearing The Extent To Which Our

Political Fortunes,  As A Family,  Were Mixed Up With Mike Mcconnell'S.

Mr. Malt Immediately Said That If There Was Anything Else He Could Do

For Us He Was At Our Service.

 

"Well," Said Poppa,  "I Suppose There'S A Good Deal Of Intrinsic Interest

In This Town--Relics Of Napoleon,  The Bon Marche,  And So On--And We'Ve

Got To See It. I Must Say," He Added,  Turning To Momma,  "I Feel

Considerably More Equal To It Now."

 

"It Will Take You A Good Long Week," Said Mr. Malt Earnestly,  "To Begin

To Have An Idea Of It. You Might Spend Two Whole Days In The Louvre

Itself. Is Your Time Limited?"

 

"I Don'T Need To Tell Any American The Market Value Of It," Said Poppa

Smiling.

 

"Then You Can'T Do Better Than Go Straight To The Louvre. I'D Be Pleased

To Accompany You,  Only I'Ve Got To Go Round And See Our Ambassador--I'Ve

Got A Little Business With Him. I Daresay You Know That One Of Our

Man-Of-War Ships Is Lying Right Down Here In The Seine River. Well,  The

Captain Is Giving A Reception To-Morrow In Honour Of The Russian Admiral

Who Happens To Be There,  Too. I'Ve Got Ladies With Me And I Wrote For

Four Tickets. Did I Get The Four Tickets--Or Two Of Them--Or One? No,

Sir,  I Got A Letter In The Third Person Singular Saying It Wasn'T A

Public Entertainment! I Wrote Back To Say I Guessed It Was An American

Entertainment,  And He Could Expect Me,  All The Same. He Hadn'T Any Sort

Of Excuse--My Name And Business Address Were On My Letter Paper. Now I'M

Just Going Round To See What A United States Ambassador'S For,  In This

Connection."

 

Mr. Malt Rose And The Waiter Withdrew His Chair. "Thank You,  _Garcon_,"

Said He. "I'M Coming Back Again--Do You Understand? This Is Not My Last

Meal," And The Waiter Bowed As If That Were A Statement Which Had To Be

Acknowledged,  But Was Of The Least Possible Consequence To Him

Personally. "Well,  Mr. Wick," Continued Mr. Malt,  Brushing The Crumbs

From His Waistcoat,  "I'Ll Say Good Morning,  And To Your Ladies Also. I'M

Very Pleased To Have Met You."

 

"Well," Said Momma,  As He Disappeared,  "If Every American In Paris Has

Decided To Go To That Reception There Won'T Be Much Room For The

Russians."

 

"I Suppose He'S A Voter And A Tax-Payer,  And He'S Got His Feelings,"

Replied Poppa. The Senator Would Defend A Voter And A Tax-Payer Against

Any Imputation Not Actually Criminal.

 

"I'M Glad I'M Not One Of His Lady-Friends," Momma Continued. "I Don'T

Think I _Could_ Make Myself At Home On That Man-Of-War Under The

Circumstances. But I Daresay He'Ll Drag Them There With Him. He Seems To

Be Just That Kind Of A Man."

 

"He'S A Very Patriotic Kind Of A Man," Replied The Senator. "It'S His

Patriotism,  Don'T You See,  That'S Giving Him All This Trouble. It'S Been

Outraged. Personally I Consider Mr. Malt A Very Intelligent Gentleman,

And If He'D Given Me An Opening As Big As The Eye Of A Needle I'M The

Camel That Would Have Gone With Him,  Augusta."

 

This Statement Of The Senator'S Struck Me As Something To Be Acted Upon.

If There Was To Be A Constant Possibility Of His Going Off With Any

Chance American In Regular Communication With The United States,  Our

European Tour Would Be A Good Deal Less Interesting Than I Had Been Led

To Expect. While Momma Was Getting Ready For The Louvre,  Therefore,  I

Stepped Down To The Office And Wired Our Itinerary To His Partner In

Chicago. "Keep Up Daily Communication By Wire In detail," I Telegraphed,

"Forward Copies All Important Letters Care Peters." Peters Was The

Tourist Agent Who Had Undertaken To Bless Our Comings And Goings. I Said

Nothing Whatever To Poppa,  But I Felt A Glow Of Conscious Triumph When I

Thought Of Mr. Malt.

 

We Stood And Realised Paris On The Pavement While The Fiacre Turned In

From The Road And Drew Up For Us. I Had Every Intention Of Being

Fascinated And So Had Momma. We Had Both Heard Often And Often That Good

Americans When They Die Go To Paris,  And That Prepares One For A Good

Deal In This Life. We Were So Anxious To Be Pleased That We Fastened

With One Accord Upon The Florist'S Shop Under The Hotel And Said That It

Was Uniquely Charming,  Though We Both Knew Places In broadway That It

Couldn'T Be Compared With. We Looked Amiably At The Passers-By,  And Did

Our Best To Detect In The Manner Of Their Faces That _Esprit_ That Makes

The Dialogue Of French Novels So Stimulating. What I Usually Thought I

Saw When They Looked At Us Was A Leisurely Indifferentism Ornamented

With The Suspicion Of A Sneer,  And Based Upon A Certain Fundamental

Acquisitiveness And Ability To Make A Valuation That Acknowledged The

Desirability Of Our Presence On Business Grounds,  If Not On Personal

Ones. It Seemed To Be A Preconcerted Public Intention To Make As Much

Noise In a Given Space As Possible--We Spoke Of The Cheerfulness Of It,

Stopping Our Ears. The Cracking Of The Drivers' Whips Alone Made A _Feu

De Joie_ That Never Ceased,  And Listening To It We Knew That We Ought To

Feel Happy And Elated. The Driver Of Our Fiacre Was Fat And Rubicund,  He

Wore A Green Coat,  Brass Buttons,  And A Shiny Top Hat,  And Looked As If

He Drank Constantly. His Jollity Was Perfunctory,  I Know,  And Covered A

Grasping Nature,  But It Was Very Well Imitated,  Like Everything In

Paris. As He Whirled Us,  With A Whip-Report Like A Pistol-Shot,  Into The

Train Of Traffic In The Middle Of The Street,  We Felt That We Were

Indeed In The City Of Appearances; And I Put Down In My Mind,  Not Having

My Note-Book,  That Paris Lives Up To Its Photographs.

 

"We Mustn'T Forget Our Serious Object,  Dear," Said Momma,  As We Rolled

Over The Cobblestones--"Our Literary Object. What Shall We Note This

Morning? The Broad Streets,  The Elegant Shops--_Do_ Look At That One!

Darling,  Is It Absolutely Necessary To Go To The Louvre This Morning?

There Are Some Things We Really Need."

 

Momma Addressed The Senator. I Mentioned To Her Once That Her Way Of

Doing It Was Almost English In Its Demonstrativeness,  And My Other

Parent Told Me Privately He Wished I Hadn'T--It Aggravated It So.

 

"Augusta," Said Poppa,  Firmly,  "I Understand Your Feeling. I Take A

Human Interest In Those Stores Myself,  Which I Do Not Expect This

Picture Gallery,  Etc.,  To Inspire In Me. But There The Louvre _Is_,  You

See,  And It'S Got To Be Done. If We Spent Our Whole Time In This City In

Mere Pleasure And Amusement,  You Would Be The First To Reproach

Yourself,  Augusta."

 

A Few Minutes Later,  When We Had Crossed The Stone Quadrangle And

Mounted The Stairs,  And Stood With Our Catalogue In The Salle Lacaze,

Momma Said That She Wouldn'T Have Missed It For Anything. She Sank

Ecstatic Upon A Bench,  And Gave To Every Individual Picture Upon The

Opposite Wall The Tribute Of Her Intensest Admiration. It Was A Pleasure

To See Her Enjoying Herself So Much; And Poppa And I Vainly Tried To

Keep Up To Her With The Catalogue.

 

"Oh,  Why Haven'T We Such Things In chicago!" She Exclaimed,  At Which The

Senator Checked Her Mildly.

 

"It'S A Mere Question Of Time," Said He. "It Isn'T Reasonable To Expect

Pre-Raphaelites In a New Country. But Give Us Three Or Four Hundred

Years,  And We'Ll Produce Old Masters Which,  If You Ladies Will Excuse

The Expression,  Will Knock The Spots Out Of The Middle Ages." Poppa Is

Such An Optimist About Chicago.

 

The Senator Went On In a Strain Of Criticism Of The Pictures Perfectly

Moderate And Kindly--Nothing He Wouldn'T Have Said To The Artists

Themselves--Until Momma Interrupted Him. "Don'T You Think We Might Be

Silent For A Time,  Alexander," She Said.

 

Momma Does Call Him Alexander Sometimes. I Didn'T Like To Mention It

Before,  But It Can'T Be Concealed For Ever. She Says It'S Because Joshua

Always Costs Her An Effort,  And Every Woman Ought To Have The Right To

Name Her Own Husband.

 

"Let Us Offer To All This Genius," She Continued,  Indicating It,  "The

Tribute