A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

higher up in the air than the summit of that wooded rampart.

It is the distance that makes the deception. The wooded

height is but four or five miles removed from us,

but the Jungfrau is four or five times that distance away.

Walking down the street of shops, in the fore-noon, I

was attracted by a large picture, carved, frame and all,

from a single block of chocolate-colored wood.

There are people who know everything. Some of these had

told us that continental shopkeepers always raise their

prices on English and Americans. Many people had told

us it was expensive to buy things through a courier,

whereas I had supposed it was just the reverse.

When I saw this picture, I conjectured that it was worth

more than the friend I proposed to buy it for would

like to pay, but still it was worth while to inquire;

so I told the courier to step in and ask the price, as if he

wanted it for himself; I told him not to speak in English,

and above all not to reveal the fact that he was a courier.

Then I moved on a few yards, and waited.

The courier came presently and reported the price.

I said to myself, “It is a hundred francs too much,”

and so dismissed the matter from my mind. But in

the afternoon I was passing that place with Harris,

and the picture attracted me again. We stepped in,

to see how much higher broken German would raise the price.

The shopwoman named a figure just a hundred francs lower

than the courier had named. This was a pleasant surprise.

I said I would take it. After I had given directions as to

where it was to be shipped, the shipped, the shopwoman said,

appealingly:

“If your please, do not let your courier know you bought it.”

This was an unexpected remark. I said:

“What makes you think I have a courier?”

“Ah, that is very simple; he told me himself.”

“He was very thoughtful. But tell me–why did you charge

him more than you are charging me?”

“That is very simple, also: I do not have to pay you

a percentage.”

“Oh, I begin to see. You would have had to pay the courier

a percentage.”

“Undoubtedly. The courier always has his percentage.

In this case it would have been a hundred francs.”

“Then the tradesman does not pay a part of it–

the purchaser pays all of it?”

“There are occasions when the tradesman and the courier

agree upon a price which is twice or thrice the value of

the article, then the two divide, and both get a percentage.”

“I see. But it seems to me that the purchaser does

all the paying, even then.”

“Oh, to be sure! It goes without saying.”

“But I have bought this picture myself; therefore why

shouldn’t the courier know it?”

The woman exclaimed, in distress:

“Ah, indeed it would take all my little profit! He would

come and demand his hundred francs, and I should have

to pay.”

“He has not done the buying. You could refuse.”

“I could not dare to refuse. He would never bring

travelers here again. More than that, he would denounce me

to the other couriers, they would divert custom from me,

and my business would be injured.”

I went away in a thoughtful frame of mind. I began to see why

a courier could afford to work for fifty-five dollars a month

and his fares. A month or two later I was able to understand

why a courier did not have to pay any board and lodging,

and why my hotel bills were always larger when I had him

with me than when I left him behind, somewhere, for a few days.

Another thing was also explained, now, apparently.

In one town I had taken the courier to the bank to do

the translating when I drew some money. I had sat

in the reading-room till the transaction was finished.

Then a clerk had brought the money to me in person,

and had been exceedingly polite, even going so far as to

precede me to the door and holding it open for me and bow