“Rather slow.”
“Ever been over here before?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t. My first trip. But we’ve been all around–Paris
and everywhere. I’m to enter Harvard next year.
Studying German all the time, now. Can’t enter till I
know German. I know considerable French–I get along
pretty well in Paris, or anywhere where they speak French.
What hotel are you stopping at?”
“Schweitzerhof.”
“No! is that so? I never see you in the reception-room.
I go to the reception-room a good deal of the time,
because there’s so many Americans there. I make lots
of acquaintances. I know an American as soon as I see
him–and so I speak to him and make his acquaintance.
I like to be always making acquaintances–don’t you?”
“Lord, yes!”
“You see it breaks up a trip like this, first rate.
I never got bored on a trip like this, if I can
make acquaintances and have somebody to talk to.
But I think a trip like this would be an awful bore,
if a body couldn’t find anybody to get acquainted with
and talk to on a trip like this. I’m fond of talking,
ain’t you?
“Passionately.”
“Have you felt bored, on this trip?”
“Not all the time, part of it.”
“That’s it!–you see you ought to go around and get acquainted,
and talk. That’s my way. That’s the way I always do–I
just go ’round, ’round, ’round and talk, talk, talk–I
never get bored. You been up the Rigi yet?”
“No.”
“Going?”
“I think so.”
“What hotel you going to stop at?”
“I don’t know. Is there more than one?”
“Three. You stop at the Schreiber–you’ll find it full
of Americans. What ship did you say you came over in?”
“CITY OF ANTWERP.”
“German, I guess. You going to Geneva?”
“Yes.”
“What hotel you going to stop at?”
“Hotel de l”Ecu de G’en`eve.”
“Don’t you do it! No Americans there! You stop at one
of those big hotels over the bridge–they’re packed
full of Americans.”
“But I want to practice my Arabic.”
“Good gracious, do you speak Arabic?”
“Yes–well enough to get along.”
“Why, hang it, you won’t get along in Geneva–THEY don’t
speak Arabic, they speak French. What hotel are you
stopping at here?”
“Hotel Pension-Beaurivage.”
“Sho, you ought to stop at the Schweitzerhof. Didn’t you
know the Schweitzerhof was the best hotel in Switzerland?–
look at your Baedeker.”
“Yes, I know–but I had an idea there warn’t any
Americans there.”
“No Americans! Why, bless your soul, it’s just alive with
them! I’m in the great reception-room most all the time.
I make lots of acquaintances there. Not as many as I did
at first, because now only the new ones stop in there–
the others go right along through. Where are you from?”
“Arkansaw.”
“Is that so? I’m from New England–New Bloomfield’s my town
when I’m at home. I’m having a mighty good time today,
ain’t you?”
“Divine.”
“That’s what I call it. I like this knocking around,
loose and easy, and making acquaintances and talking.
I know an American, soon as I see him; so I go and speak
to him and make his acquaintance. I ain’t ever bored,
on a trip like this, if I can make new acquaintances and talk.
I’m awful fond of talking when I can get hold of the right
kind of a person, ain’t you?”
“I prefer it to any other dissipation.”
“That’s my notion, too. Now some people like to take
a book and sit down and read, and read, and read, or moon
around yawping at the lake or these mountains and things,
but that ain’t my way; no, sir, if they like it, let ’em do it,
I don’t object; but as for me, talking’s what _I_ like.
You been up the Rigi?”
“Yes.”
“What hotel did you stop at?”
“Schreiber.”
“That’s the place!–I stopped there too. FULL of Americans,
WASN’T it? It always is–always is. That’s what they say.
Everybody says that. What ship did you come over in?”
“VILLE DE PARIS.”
“French, I reckon. What kind of a passage did … excuse me
a minute, there’s some Americans I haven’t seen before.”
And away he went. He went uninjured, too–I had the murderous