A Voyage Of Consolation by Sara Jeannette Duncan (best fiction books to read TXT) 📕

I Wouldn'T Be

Here Makin' A Clown Of Myself; An' I'Ll Show You The View Out Of The

Window All In Good Time. You See That Lady An' Two Genelmen Over There?

_They'Re_ Listenin' All Right Enough Because They Don'T Belong To This

Party An' They Want To Get A Little Information Cheap Price. All

Right--I Let 'Em Have It!" At Which The Lady And Two Gentlemen Usually

Melted Away Looking Annoyed.

 

We Were Fascinated With The Coaches Of State And Much Impressed With The

Cost Of Them. As Momma Said,  It Took So Very _Little_ Imagination To

Conjure Up A Royal Philip Inside Bowing To The Populace.

 

"What A Pity We Couldn'T Have Had Them Over!" Said Poppa Indiscreetly.

 

"Where You Mean?" Demanded The Guide,  "Over To America? I Know--For That

Ole Chicago Show! You Are The Five Hundred American Who Has Said That To

Me This Summer! Number Five Hundred! Nossir,  We Don'T Lend Those

Carriage. We Don'T Even Drive Them Ourself."

 

"No More Kings And Queens Nowadays," Remarked Mr. Hinkson,  "This

Century'S Got No Use For Them."

 

I Think The Guide Was A Monarchist. "Nossir," He Said,  "You Don'T See No

More Kings An' Queens Of France,  But You Do See A Good Many People

Travellin' That'S Nothin' Like So Good For Trade."

 

At Which Mr. Pabbley'S Eye Sought That Of The Guide,  And Expressed Its

Appreciation In a Marked And Joyous Wink.

 

In The Palace,  Especially In The Picture Rooms,  There Were Generally

Benches Along The Walls. When Momma Observed This She Arranged That She

Should Go On Ahead And Sit Down And Get The Impression,  While Poppa And

I Caught Up From Time To Time With The Guide And The Information. The

Guide Was Quite Agreeable About It,  When It Was Explained To Him.

 

He Was Either A Very Thoughtless Or A Very Insincere Person,  However.

Stopping Before The Portrait Of An Officer In Uniform,  He Drew Us All

Together. The Canadians,  Headed By Mr. Pabbley,  Were Well To The Fore,

And It Was To Them In Particular That He Appeared To Address Himself

When He Said,  "Take A Good Look At This Picture,  Ladies And Genelmen.

There Is A Man Wat Lives In Your 'Istory An',  If I May Say,  In Your

'Art--As He Does In Ours. There'S A Man,  Ladies And Genelmen,  That

Helped You On To Liberty. Take A Good Look At 'Im,  You'Ll Be Glad To

Remember It Afterward."

 

And It Was General Lafayette!

Chapter 7

 

It Was After Dinner And We Were Sitting In The Little Courtyard Of The

Hotel In The Dark Without Our Hats--That Is,  Momma And I; The Senator

Was Seldom Altogether Without His Hat. I Think He Would Have Felt It To

Be A Little Indecent. The Courtyard Was Paved,  And There Were Flowers On

The Stand In The Middle Of It,  Natural Palms And Artificial Begonias

Mixed With The Most Annoying Cleverness,  And Little Tables For Coffee

Cups Or Glasses Were Scattered About. Outside Beyond The Hotel Vestibule

One Could See And Hear Paris Rolling By In The Gaslight. It Was The Only

Place In The Hotel That Did Not Smell Of Furniture,  So We Frequented It.

So Did Mr. Malt And Mrs. Malt,  And Emmeline Malt,  And Miss Callis. That

Was Chiefly How We Made The Acquaintance Of The Malt Party. You Can'T

Very Well Sit Out In The Dark In a Foreign Capital With A Family From

Your Own State And Not Get To Know Them. Besides Poppa Never Could

Overcome His Feeling Of Indebtedness To Mr. Malt. They Were Taking

Emmeline Abroad For Her Health. She Was The Popular Thirteen-Year-Old

Only Child Of American Families,  And She Certainly Was Thin. I Remember

Being Pleased,  Sometimes,  Considering Her In Her Typical Capacity,  That

I Once Had A Little Brother,  Though He Died Before I Was Born.

 

The Two Gentlemen Were Smoking; We Could See Nothing But The Ends Of

Their Cigars Glowing In Their Immediate Vicinity. Momma Was Saying That

The Situation Was Very Romantic,  And Mr. Malt Had Assured Her That It

Was Nothing To What We Would Experience In Italy. "That'S Where You

_Get_ Romance," Said Mr. Malt,  And His Cigar End Dropped Like A Falling

Star As He Removed The Ash. "Italy'S Been Romantic Ever Since B.C. All

Through The Time The Rest Of The World Was Inventing Magna Chartas And

Doomsday Books,  And Parliaments,  And Printing Presses,  And Steam

Engines,  Italy'S Gone Right On Turning Out Romance. Result Is,  A Better

Quality Of That Article To Be Had In Italy To-Day Than Anywhere Else.

Further Result,  Twenty Million Pounds Spent There Annually By Tourists

From All Parts Of The Civilised World. Romance,  Like Anything Else,  Can

Be Made To Pay."

 

"Are We Likely To Find The Beds----" Began Mrs. Malt Plaintively.

 

"Oh Dear Yes,  Mrs. Malt!" Interrupted Momma,  Who Thought Everything

Entomological Extremely Indelicate. "Perfectly. You Have Only To Go To

The Hotels The Guide-Books Recommend,  And Everything Will Be Quite

_Propre_."

 

"Well," Said Emmeline,  "They May Be _Propre_ In Italy,  But They'Re Not

_Propre_ In Paris. We Had To Speak To The Housemaid Yesterday Morning,

Didn'T We,  Mother? Don'T You Remember The Back Of My Neck?"

 

"We All Suffered!" Declared Mrs. Malt.

 

"And I _Showed_ One To Her,  Mother,  And All She Would Say Was,  '_Jamais

Ici,  Mademoiselle,  Ici,  Jamais!_' And There It _Was_ You Know."

 

"Emmeline," Said Her Father,  "Isn'T It About Time For You To Want To Go

To Bed?"

 

"Not By About Three Hours. I'M Going To Get Up A Little Music First. Do

You Play,  Mis' Wick?"

 

Momma Said She Didn'T,  And Miss Malt Disappeared In Search Of Other

Performers. "Don'T You Go Asking Strangers To Play,  Emmeline," Her

Mother Called After Her. "They'Ll Think It Forward Of You."

 

"When Emmeline Leaves Us," Said Her Father,  "I Always Have A Kind Of

Abandoned Feeling,  Like A Top That'S Got To The End Of Its Spin."

 

There Was Silence For A Moment,  And Then The Senator Said He Thought He

Could Understand That.

 

"Well," Continued Mr. Malt,  "You'Ve Had Three Whole Days Now. I Presume

You'Re Beginning To Know Your Way Around."

 

"I Think We May Say We'Ve Made Pretty Good Use Of Our Time," Responded

The Senator. "This Morning We Had A Look In at The Luxembourg Picture

Gallery,  And The Madeleine,  And Napoleon'S Tomb,  And The Site Of The

Bastile. This Afternoon We Took A Run Down To Notre Dame Cathedral.

That'S A Very Fine Building,  Sir."

 

"You Saw The Morgue,  Of Course,  When You Were In That Direction,"

Remarked Mr. Malt.

 

"Why No," Poppa Confessed,  "We Haven'T Taken Much Of Liking For Live

Frenchmen,  Up To The Present,  And I Don'T Suppose Dead Ones Would Be Any

More Attractive."

 

"Oh,  There'S Nothing Unpleasant," Said Mrs. Malt,  "Nothing That You Can

_Notice_."

 

"Nothing At All," Said Mr. Malt. "They Refrigerate Them,  You Know. We

Send Our Beef To England By The Same Process----"

 

"There Are People," The Senator Interrupted,  "Who Never Can See Anything

Amusing In a Corpse."

 

"They Don'T Let You In as A Matter Of Course," Mr. Malt Went On. "You

Have To Pretend That You'Re Looking For A Relation."

 

"We Had To Mention Uncle Sammy," Said Mrs. Malt.

 

"An Uncle Of Mis' Malt'S Who Went To California In '49 And Was Never

Heard Of Afterward," Mr. Malt Explained. "First Use He'S Ever Been To

His Family. Well,  There They Were,  Seven Of 'Em,  Lying There Looking At

You Yesterday. All In Good Condition. I Was Told They Have A Place

Downstairs For The Older Ones."

 

"Alexander," Said Momma Faintly,  "I Think I _Should_ Like A Little

Brandy In My Coffee. Were There--Were There Any Ladies Among Them,  Mr.

Malt?"

 

"Three," Mr. Malt Responded Briskly,  "And One Of Them Had Her Hair----"

 

"Then _Please_ Don'T Tell Us About Them," Momma Exclaimed,  And The

Silence That Ensued Was One Of Slight Indignation On The Part Of The

Malt Family.

 

"You Been Seeing The Town At All,  Evenings?" Mr. Malt Inquired Of The

Senator.

 

"I Can'T Say I Have. We'Ve Been Seeing So Much Of It In The Daytime,  We

Haven'T Felt Able To Enjoy Anything At Night Except Our Beds," Poppa

Returned With His Accustomed Candour.

 

"Just So. All The Same There'S A Good Deal Going On In Paris After

Supper."

 

"So I'Ve Always Been Told," Said The Senator,  Lighting Another Cigar.

 

"They'Ve Got What You Might Call Characteristic Shows Here. You See A

Lot Of Life."

 

"Can You Take Your Ladies?" Asked The Senator.

 

"Well Of Course You _Can_,  But I Don'T Believe They Would Find It

Interesting."

 

"Too Much Life," Said The Senator. "I Guess That Settles It For Me Too.

I Daresay I'M Lacking In Originality And Enterprise,  But I Generally Ask

Myself About An Entertainment,  'Are Mrs. And Miss Wick Likely To Enjoy

It?' If So,  Well And Good. If Not,  I Don'T As A Rule Take It In."

 

"He'S A Great Comfort That Way," Remarked Momma To Mrs. Malt.

 

"Oh,  I Don'T _Frequent_ Them Myself," Said Mr. Malt Defensively.

 

"Talking Of Improprieties," Remarked Miss Callis,  "Have You Seen The

New Salon?"

 

There Was Something Very Unexpected About Miss Callis; Momma Complained

Of It. Her Remarks Were Never Polished By Reflection. She Called Herself

A Child Of Nature,  But She Really Resided In brooklyn.

 

The Senator Said We Had Not.

 

"Then Don'T You Go,  Mr. Wick. There'S A Picture There----"

 

"We Never Look At Such Pictures,  Miss Callis," Momma Interrupted.

 

"It'S _So_ French," Said Miss Callis.

 

Momma Drew Her Shawl Round Her Preparatory To Withdrawing,  But It Was

Too Late.

 

"Too French For Words," Continued Miss Callis. "The Poet Lamartine,  With

A Note-Book And Pencil In His Hand,  Seated In a Triumphal Chariot,  Drawn

Through The Clouds By Beautiful Muses."

 

"Oh," Said Momma,  In a Relieved Voice,  "There'S Nothing So Dreadfully

French About That."

 

"You Should Have Seen It," Said Miss Callis. "It Was Simply Immoral.

Lamartine Was In a Frock Coat!"

 

"There Could Have Been Nothing Objectionable In That," Momma Repeated.

"I Suppose The Muses----"

 

"The Muses Were Not In Frock Coats. They Were Dressed In Their

Traditions," Replied Miss Callis,  "But They Couldn'T Save The Situation,

Poor Dears."

 

Momma Looked As If She Wished She Had The Courage To Ask Miss Callis To

Explain.

 

"In Picture Galleries," Remarked Poppa,  "We'Ve Seen Only The Luxembourg

And The Louvre. The Louvre,  I Acknowledge,  Is Worthy Of A Second Visit.

But I Don'T Believe We'Ll Have Time To Get Round Again."

 

"We'Ve Got To Get A Hustle On Ourselves In a Day Or Two," Said Mr. Malt,

As We Separated For The Night. "There'S All Italy And Switzerland

Waiting For Us,  And They'Re Bound To Be Done,  Because We'Ve Got Circular

Tickets. But There'S Something About This Town That I Hate To Leave."

 

"He Doesn'T Know Whether It'S The Arc De Triomphe On The Bois De

Boulogne Or The Opera Comique,  Or What," Said Mrs. Malt In affectionate

Criticism. "But We'Ve Been Here A Week Over Our Time Now,  And He Doesn'T

Seem Able To Tear Himself Away."

 

"I'Ll Tell You What It Is," Exclaimed Mr. Malt,  Producing A Newspaper,

"It'S This Little Old _New York Herald_. There'S No Use Comparing It

With Any American Newspaper,  And It Wouldn'T Be Fair To Do So; But I

Wonder These French Rags,  In a Foreign Tongue,  Aren'T Ashamed To Be

Published In The Same Capital With It. It Doesn'T Take Above A Quarter

Of An Hour To Read In The Mornings,  But It'S A Quarter Of An Hour Of

Solid Comfort That You Don'T Expect Somehow Abroad. If The _New York

Herald_ Were Only Published In Rome I Wouldn'T Mind Going There."

 

"There'S Something," Said Poppa,  Thoughtfully,  As We Ascended To The

Third Floor,  "In What Malt Says."

 

Next Day We Spent An Hour Buying Trunks For The Accommodation Of The

Unattainable Elsewhere. Then Poppa Reminded Us That We Had An Important

Satisfaction Yet To Experience. "Business Before Pleasure," He Said,

"Certainly. But We'Ve Been Improving Our Minds Pretty Hard For The Last

Few Days,  And I Feel The Need Of A Little Relaxation. D.V. And W.P.,  I

Propose This Afternoon To Make The Ascent Of The Eiffel Tower. Are You

On?"

 

"I Will Accompany You,  Alexander,  If It Is Safe," Said Momma,  "And,  If

It Is Unsafe,  I Couldn'T Possibly Let You Go Without Me."

 

Momma Is Naturally A Person Of Some Timidity,