A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

not expected, so I soon remedied that. The effect

upon the next detachment of tourists was very marked.

I felt repaid for my trouble.

Half of the summer horde in Switzerland is made up of

English people; the other half is made up of many nationalities,

the Germans leading and the Americans coming next.

The Americans were not as numerous as I had expected

they would be.

The seven-thirty table d’ho^te at the great Schweitzerhof

furnished a mighty array and variety of nationalities,

but it offered a better opportunity to observe costumes

than people, for the multitude sat at immensely long tables,

and therefore the faces were mainly seen in perspective;

but the breakfasts were served at small round tables,

and then if one had the fortune to get a table in the

midst of the assemblage he could have as many faces

to study as he could desire. We used to try to guess out

the nationalities, and generally succeeded tolerably well.

Sometimes we tried to guess people’s names; but that was

a failure; that is a thing which probably requires a good

deal of practice. We presently dropped it and gave our

efforts to less difficult particulars. One morning I

said:

“There is an American party.”

Harris said:

“Yes–but name the state.”

I named one state, Harris named another. We agreed upon

one thing, however–that the young girl with the party

was very beautiful, and very tastefully dressed.

But we disagreed as to her age. I said she was eighteen,

Harris said she was twenty. The dispute between us

waxed warm, and I finally said, with a pretense of being

in earnest:

“Well, there is one way to settle the matter–I will go

and ask her.”

Harris said, sarcastically, “Certainly, that is the thing

to do. All you need to do is to use the common formula

over here: go and say, ‘I’m an American!’ Of course she

will be glad to see you.”

Then he hinted that perhaps there was no great danger

of my venturing to speak to her.

I said, “I was only talking–I didn’t intend to approach her,

but I see that you do not know what an intrepid person

I am. I am not afraid of any woman that walks.

I will go and speak to this young girl.”

The thing I had in my mind was not difficult.

I meant to address her in the most respectful way and ask

her to pardon me if her strong resemblance to a former

acquaintance of mine was deceiving me; and when she should

reply that the name I mentioned was not the name she bore,

I meant to beg pardon again, most respectfully, and retire.

There would be no harm done. I walked to her table,

bowed to the gentleman, then turned to her and was about

to begin my little speech when she exclaimed:

“I KNEW I wasn’t mistaken–I told John it was you!

John said it probably wasn’t, but I knew I was right.

I said you would recognize me presently and come over;

and I’m glad you did, for I shouldn’t have felt much flattered

if you had gone out of this room without recognizing me.

Sit down, sit down–how odd it is–you are the last person I

was ever expecting to see again.”

This was a stupefying surprise. It took my wits

clear away, for an instant. However, we shook hands

cordially all around, and I sat down. But truly this

was the tightest place I ever was in. I seemed to vaguely

remember the girl’s face, now, but I had no idea where I

had seen it before, or what named belonged with it.

I immediately tried to get up a diversion about Swiss scenery,

to keep her from launching into topics that might

betray that I did not know her, but it was of no use,

she went right along upon matters which interested her more:

“Oh dear, what a night that was, when the sea washed

the forward boats away–do you remember it?”

“Oh, DON’T I!” said I–but I didn’t. I wished the sea

had washed the rudder and the smoke-stack and the captain

away–then I could have located this questioner.