A Voyage Of Consolation by Sara Jeannette Duncan (most read books of all time .TXT) 📖

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 Grasshopper 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.

 

"Get Away From Them? Not If They Know You'Re Here!"

 

At Which The Serious Man Looked Still More Serious,  And Sympathy For

Him Sprang Up In every Heart.

 

We Passed Longchamps At A Steady Trot,  And The Guide'S Statement That

The Races There Were Always Held On Sunday Was Received With A Silence

That Evidently Disappointed Him. It Was Plain That He Had A Withering

Rejoinder Ready For Sabbatarians,  And He Waited Anxiously,  Balanced On

One Foot,  For An Expression Of Shocked Opinion. It Was After We Had

Passed Mont Valerien,  Frowning On The Horizon,  That The Man In The Pink

Cotton Shirt Began To Grow Restive Under So Much Instruction. He Told

The Serious Person That His Name Was Hinkson Of Iowa,  And The Serious

Person Was Induced To Reply That His Was Pabbley Of Simcoe,  Ontario. It

Was Insubordination--The Guide Was Talking About The Shelling From Mont

Valerien At The Time,  With The Most Patriotic Dislocations In His

Grammar.

 

"You Understan',  You See?" He Concluded. "Now Those Two Genelmen,  They

_Don'_ Understan',  And They _Don'_ See. An' When They Get Back To The

United States They Won' Be Able To Tell Their Wives An' Sweethearts

Anythin' About Mont Valerien! All Right,  Genelmen--Please Yourselves.

_Mais_ You Please Remember I Am Just Like William Shekspeare--I Give No

_Repetition_!"

 

It Was Then That The Serious Man Demonstrated That Britons,  Even The

North American Kind,  Never,  Never Would Be Slaves. Placing His Black

Silk Hat Carefully A Little Further Back On His Head,  He Leaned Forward.

 

"Now Look Here,  Mister," He Said,  "You'Re As Personal As A Yankee

Newspaper. So Far As I Know,  You'Re Not The Friend Of My Childhood,  Nor

The Companion Of My Later Years,  Except For This Trip Only,  And I'D Just

As Soon You Realised It. As Far As I Know,  You'Re Paid To Point Out

Objects Of Historical Interest. Don'T You Trouble To Entertain Us Any

Further Than That. We'Ll Excuse You!"

 

"Ladies--An' Genelmen," Continued The Guide Calmly,  "In A Lil' Short

While We Shall Be Approached To The Town Of St. Cloud. At That Town Of

St. Cloud Will Be One Genelman Will Take The Excellen' Group--Fotograff.

To Appear In That Fotograff,  You Will Please All Keep Together With Me.

Afterwards,  You Will Look At The Fountains,  At The Magnificent Panorama

De Paris,  And We Go On To Versailles. On The Return Journey,  If You Like

That Fotograff You Can Buy,  If You Don'T Like,  You Don' Buy. An' If You

Got No Wife An' No Sweetheart All The Same You Keep Your Temper!"

 

But Mr. Pabbley Had Settled His Hat In Its Normal Position And Did Not

Intend To Clear His Brow For Action Again. All Might Have Gone Well,  Had

It Not Been For The Patriotic Sensitiveness Of Mr. Hinkson Of Iowa.

 

"I Think I Heard You Pass A Remark About American Newspapers,  Sir," Said

Mr Hinkson Of Iowa. "Think You'Ve Got Any Better In canada?"

 

Mr. Pabbley Smiled. There May Have Been Some Fancied Superiority In The

Smile.

 

"I Guess They Suit Us Better," He Said.

 

"Got Any Circulation Figures About You?"

 

"Not Being An Advertising Agent,  I Don'T Carry Them."

 

"I See!" Mr. Hinkson'S Manner Of Saying He Saw Clearly Implied That

There Might Have Been Other Reasons Why Mr. Pabbley Declined To Produce

Those Figures. We Were All Listening Now,  And The Guide Had Subsided

Upon The Box Seat. The Senator'S Face Wore The Judicial Expression It

Always Assumes When He Has A Difficulty In Keeping Himself Out Of The

Conversation. It Became Easier Than Ever To Separate The Republican And

The British Elements On That Coach.

 

"Well," Said Mr. Hinkson,  "Don'T You Folks Get Pretty Tired Of Paying

Victoria Taxes Sometimes?"

 

The British Contingent Seemed To Find This Amusing. The Americans Looked

As If It Were No Laughing Matter.

 

"I Don'T Believe Her Majesty Is Much The Richer For All She Gets Out Of

Us," Said Mr. Pabbley.

 

"Oh,  I Guess You Send Over A Pretty Good Lump Per Annum,  Don'T You?"

 

"Not A Red Cent,  Sir," Said Mr. Pabbley Decisively. "We Run Our Own

Show."

 

"What About That Aristocrat That Rules The Country Up At Ottawa?"

 

"Oh,  _He_ Hasn'T Got Any Say! We Get Him Out And Pay Him A Salary To

Save Ourselves The Trouble Of Electing A President. A Presidential

Election'S Bad For Business,  Bad For Politics,  Bad For Morals."

 

"You Seem To Know. Doesn'T It Ever Make You Tired To Hear Yourselves

Called Subjects? Don'T You Ever Want To Be Free And Equal,  Like Us?

Trot Out The Truth Now--The George Washington Article!"

 

"Mister," Said Mr. Pabbley,  "I Flatter Myself That Canadians Are A Good

Deal Like United States Folks Already,  And I Don'T Mind Congratulating

Both Our Nations On The Resemblance. But I'M Bound To Add That,  While I

Would Wish To Imitate The American People In Many Ways Still Further,  I

Wouldn'T Be Like You Personally,  No,  Not Under Any Circumstances Nor In

Any Respect."

 

At This Moment It Was Necessary To Dismount,  And,  As Poppa And I Both

Immediately Became Engaged In Reconciling Momma To The Necessity Of

Walking To The Top Of The Plateau,  I Lost The Rest Of The Conversation.

Momma,  When It Was Necessary To Walk Anywhere,  Always Became Pathetic

And Offered To Stay Behind Alone. She Declared On This Occasion That She

Would Be Perfectly Happy In The Coach With The Dear Horses,  And Poppa

Had To Resort To Extreme Measures. "Please Yourself,  Augusta," He Said.

"Your Lightest Whim Is Law To Me,  And You Know It. But I'M Going To Hate

Standing Up In That Photograph All Alone With My Only Child,  Like Any

Widower."

 

"Alexander!" Exclaimed Momma At Once. "What A Dreadful Idea! I Think I

Might Be Able To Manage It."

 

The Photographer Was There With His Camera. The Guide Marshalled Us Up

To Him,  Falling Back Now And Then To Bark At The Heels Of The Lagging

Ones,  And,  With The Assistance Of A Bench And An Acacia,  We Were Rapidly

Arranged,  The Short Ones Standing Up,  The Tall Ones Sitting Down,

Everyone Assuming His Most Pleasing Expression,  And The Misses Bingham

Standing Alone,  Apart,  On The Brink,  Looking On Under An Umbrella That

Seemed To Protect Them From Intimate Association With The Democracy In

Any Form. We Saw The Guide Approach Them In Gingerly Inquiry,  But,

Before Simultaneous Waves Of Their Two Black Fans,  He Retired In

Disorder. The Bride Had Slipped Her Hand Upon Her Husband'S Shoulder,

Just To Mark His Identity; The Fat Gentleman Had Removed His Hat And

Hurriedly Put It On Again,  And The Photographer Had Gone Under His

Curtain For The Third Time,  When Mr. Hinkson Of Iowa,  Who Sat In a

Conspicuous Cross-Legged Position In The Foreground,  Drew From His

Pocket A Handkerchief And Spread It Carefully Out Over One Knee. It Was

Not An Ordinary Handkerchief,  It Was A Pocket Edition Of The Stars And

Stripes,  All Red,  And Blue,  And White,  And It Attracted The Instant

Attention Of Every Eye. One Of The Eyes Was Mr. Pabbley'S,  Who Appeared

To Clear The Group At A Bound In consequence.

 

"Ladies And Gentlemen," Exclaimed Mr. Pabbley With Vehemence,  "Does

Anyone Happen To Have A Union Jack About Him Or Her?"

 

They Felt In Their Pockets,  But They Hadn'T.

 

"Then," Said Mr. Pabbley,  Who Was Evidently Aroused,  "Unless The

Gentleman From Iowa Will Withdraw His Handkerchief,  I Refuse To Sit."

 

"I Guess We Aren'T Any Of Us Annexationists," Said A Middle-Aged Woman

From Toronto In a Duster,  And Proceeded To Follow Mr. Pabbley.

 

The Rest Of The Canadians Looked At Each Other Undecidedly For A Moment

And Then Slowly Filed After The Middle-Aged Woman. There Remained The

Mere Wreck Of A Group Clustering Round The National Emblem On The Leg Of

Mr. Hinkson. The Guide Was Expostulating Himself Speechless,  The

Photographer Was In convulsions,  The Senator Saw It Was Time To

Interfere. Leaning Over,  He Gently Tapped The Patriot From Iowa On The

Shoulder.

 

"Aren'T You Satisfied With The Sixty Million Fellow-Citizens You'Ve Got

Already," Said Poppa,  "That You Want To Grab Nine Half-Starved Canucks

With A Hand Camera?"

 

"They'Re In The Majority Here," Said Mr. Hinkson Fiercely,  "And I Dare

Any One Of 'Em To Touch That Flag. Go Along Over There And Join 'Em If

You Like--They'Re Goin' To Be Done By Themselves--To Send To Queen

Victoria!"

 

But That Was Further Than Anybody Would Go,  Even In defence Of

Cosmopolitanism. The Republic Rallied Round Mr. Hinkson'S Leg,  While The

Dominion With Much Dignity Supported Mr. Pabbley. As Momma Said,  Human

Nature Is Perfectly Extraordinary.

 

For The Rest Of The Journey To Versailles There Was Hardly Any

International Conversation. Mr. Hinkson Tied His Handkerchief Round His

Neck,  And The Canadians Tried To Look As If They Had No Objection. We

Passed Through The Villages Of Montretout And Buze. I Know We Did

Because Momma Took Down The Names,  But I Fancy They Couldn'T Have

Differed Much From The General Landscape,  For I Don'T Remember A Thing

About Them. The Misses Bingham Came And Sat Next Us At Luncheon,  Which

Flattered Both Momma And Me Immensely,  Though The Senator Didn'T Seem

Able To See Where The Distinction Came In,  And During This Meal They

Pointed Out The Fact That Mr. Hinkson Was Drinking Lemonade With His

Roast Mutton,  And Asked Us How We _Could_ Travel With Such A

Combination. I Remember Poppa Said That It Was A Combination That Mr.

Hinkson And Mr. Hinkson Only Had To Deal With,  But Momma And I Felt The

Obloquy Of It A Good Deal,  Though When We Came To Think Of It We Were No

More Responsible For Mr. Hinkson Than The Misses Bingham Were. After

That,  Walking Rapidly Behind The Guide,  We Covered Centuries Of French

History,  Illustrated By Chairs And Tables And Fire-Irons And Chandeliers

And Four-Post Beds. Momma Told Me Afterwards That She Was Rather Sorry

She Had Taken Me With The Guide Through Madame Du Barry'S Fascinating

Petit Trianon,  The Things He Didn'T Say Sounded So Improper,  But When I

Assured Her That It Was Only Contemporary Scandal That Had Any Effect On

Our Morals,  She Said She Supposed That Was So,  And Somehow One Never Did

Expect People Who Wore Curled Wigs And Knee-Breeches To Behave Quite

Prettily. The Rooms Were Dotted With Groups Of People Who Had Come In

Fiacres Or By Tramway,  Which Made It Difficult For The Guide To Impart

His Information Only To Those Who Had Paid For It. He Generally

Surmounted This By Saying,  "Ladies And Genelmen,  I Want You To Stick

Closer Than Brothers. When You Hear Me A-Talkin' Don' You Go Turnin'

Over Your Baedekers And Lookin' Out Of The Window. If I Didn'T Know A

Great Big Sight More About Versailles Than Baedeker Does I Wouldn'T Be

Here Makin' A Clown Of Myself; An' I'Ll