That joke was lost on the foreigner,—guides cannot master the subtleties of the American joke.
We have made it interesting for this Roman guide.
Yesterday we spent three or four hours in the Vatican again, that wonderful world of curiosities. We came very near expressing interest sometimes, even admiration. It was hard to keep from it. We succeeded, though. Nobody else ever did in the Vatican museums. The guide was bewildered, nonplussed. He walked his legs off, nearly, hunting up extraordinary things, and exhausted all his ingenuity on us, but it was a failure; we never showed any interest in anything. He had reserved what he considered to be his greatest wonder till the last,—a royal Egyptian mummy, the best preserved in the world, perhaps. He took us there. He felt so sure this time that some of his old enthusiasm came back to him:—
"See, genteelmen!—Mummy! Mummy!"
The eye-glass came up as calmly, as deliberately as ever.
"Ah,—Ferguson,—what did I understand you to say the gentleman's name was?"
"Name?—he got no name!—Mummy!—'Gyptian mummy!"
"Yes, yes. Born here?"
"No. 'Gyptian mummy!"
"Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume?"