Part 7 (2/2)

”To tell the truth,” added the Miss Bingham without the eye-gla.s.s in a low voice, ”we don't think we can stand it.”

”I don't precisely take you, madam,” said the Senator politely.

”I'm an American,” she continued.

Poppa bowed. ”I should have known you for a daughter of the Stars and Stripes anywhere,” he said in his most complimentary tone.

Miss Bingham looked disconcerted for an instant and went on. ”My great grandfather was A.D.C. to General Was.h.i.+ngton. I've got that much reason to be loyal.”

”There couldn't have been many such officers,” the Senator agreed.

”But when I go abroad I don't want the whole of the United States to come with me.”

”It takes the gilt off getting back for you?” suggested poppa a little stiffly.

Miss Bingham failed to take the hint. ”We find Europe infested with Americans,” she continued. ”It disturbs one's impressions so. And the travelling American invariably belongs to the very _least_ desirable cla.s.s.”

”Now I shouldn't have thought so,” said the Senator, with intentional humour. But it was lost upon Miss Bingham.

”Well, if you like them,” said the other one, ”you'd better go in the coach.”

The Senator lifted his hat. ”Madam,” he said, ”I thank you for giving to me and mine the privilege of visiting a very questionable scene of the past in the very best society of the present.”

And as the guide was perspiring more and more impatiently, we got in.

For some moments the Senator sat in silence, reflecting upon this sentiment, with an occasionally heaving breast. Circ.u.mstances forbade his talking about it, but he cast an eye full of criticism upon the fiacre rolling along far in the rear, and remarked, with a fervor most unusual, that he hoped they liked our dust. We certainly made a great deal of it. Momma and I, looking at our fellow travellers, at once decided that the Misses Bingham had been a little hasty. The fat gentleman, who wore a straw hat very far back, and meant to enjoy himself, was certainly our fellow-citizen. So was his wife, and brother-in-law. So were a bride and bridegroom on the box seat--nothing less than the best of everything for an American honeymoon--and so was a solitary man with a short cut bristly beard, a slouch hat, a pink cotton s.h.i.+rt, and a celluloid collar. But there was an indescribable something about all the rest that plainly showed they had never voted for a president or celebrated a Fourth of July. I was still revolving it in my mind when the fat gentleman, who had been thinking of the same thing, said to his neighbour on the other side, a person of serious appearance in a black silk hat, apropos of the line he had crossed by, ”I may be wrong, but I shouldn't have put you down to be an American.”

”Oh, I guess I am,” replied the serious man, ”but not the United States kind.”

”British North,” suggested the fat gentleman, with a smile that acknowledged Her Majesty. ”First cousin once removed,” and momma and I looked at one another intelligently. We had nothing against Canadians, except that they generally talk as if they had the whole of the St.

Lawrence river and Niagara Falls in a perpetual lease from Providence--and we had never seen so many of them together before. The coach was three-quarters full of these foreigners, if the Misses Bingham had only known; but as poppa afterwards said, they were probably not foreign enough. It may have been imagination, but I immediately thought I saw a certain meekness, a habit of deference--I wanted to incite them all to treat the Guelphs as we did. Just then we stopped before the church of St. Augustin, and the guide came swinging along the outside of the coach hoa.r.s.ely emitting facts. Everybody listened intently, and I noticed upon the Canadian countenances the same determination to be instructed that we always show ourselves. We all meant to get the maximum amount of information for the price, and I don't think any of us have forgotten that the site of St. Augustin is three-cornered and its dome resembles a tiara to this day. For a moment I was sorry for the Misses Bingham, who were absorbing nothing but dust; but, as momma said, they looked very well informed.

It must be admitted that we were a little shy with the guide--we let him bully us. As poppa said, he was certainly well up in his subject, but that was no reason why he should have treated us as if we had all come from St. Paul or Kansas City. There was a condescension about him that was not explained by the state of his linen, and a familiarity that I had always supposed confined exclusively to the British aristocracy among themselves. He had a red face and a blue eye, with which he looked down on us with scarcely concealed contempt, and he was marvellously agile, distributing his information as open street-car conductors collect fares.

”They seem extremely careful of their herbage in this town,” remarked the serious man, and we noticed that it was so. Precautions were taken in wire that would have dissuaded a gra.s.shopper from venturing on it. It grew very neatly inside, doubtless with a certain _chic_, but it had a look of being put on for the occasion that was essentially Parisian.

Also the trees grew up out of iron plates, which was uncomfortable, though, no doubt, highly finished, and the flowers had a _cachet_ about them which made one think of French bonnets. As we rolled into the Bois it became evident that the guide had something special to communicate.

He raised his voice and coughed, in a manner which commanded instant attention.

”Ladies--and genelmen,” he said--he always added the gentleman as if they were an after-thought--”you are mos' fortunate, mos' locky. _Tout Paris_--all the folks--are still driving their 'orse an' carriage 'ere.

One week more--the style will be all gone--what you say--vamoosed? Every mother's son! An' Cook's excursion party won't see nothin' but ole cabs goin' along!”

”Can't we get away from them?” asked the serious person. It was humorously intended--certainly a liberty, and the guide was down on it in an instant.

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