“Ah, Mrs. Redding,” said the widower, “when one has once tasted the sweets of congenial companionship—”
In broke the young man:
“It was the old dispensation, and is not binding on us to-day at all. Therefore you needn’t do everything that Moses put upon the Jews; but, Mr. Thompson, you can just bet your sweet life that you are perfectly safe in not doing anything that he said the Jews should not do.”
The widower looked daggers, and the widow broadswords. As handsome a proposal as was ever to be made was nipped in the bud—an opportunity for the widow was lost which might never be regained. Who could tell? Possibly his passion might cool off. The fish was hooked but not landed, and this insufferable argument-monger was the cause of it.
“Blast your Moses,” uttered the irate widower. “Madam, if there is any part of this boat safe from the intrusion of young men who dabble in Moses, let us find it.”
And they went off, leaving the young man not at all abashed. He merely turned to an amused spectator, with the remark:
“That man’s face proves the correctness of the Darwinian theory. In time his descendants may become men. I was about to enlighten him on an important subject, but he would not.”
THE IMPECUNIOUS TOURIST.
There never was a boat loaded with tourists which did not have on its deck the man who was doing Europe on insufficient capital. He spent money freely in London, Paris nearly finished him, and he commenced traveling on credit in Switzerland. His method was very simple: he borrowed a hundred francs of every man he thought simple enough to lend it to him. It was always the same story, he had drawn on his people at home and would have the money at the next stopping place but one. Then he always slipped away from his victim at the next stopping place and was seen no more. We had him, but he did not succeed. There were too many old travelers in the party.
Geneva, on a plateau above the level of the lake, with its picturesque background of rugged mountains, gradually melts into a solid mass of buildings, bridges and parks as we go up the lake, past the mammoth hotels, with their beautifully arranged lawns and gardens. On the left, in an immense pleasure park, is the Rothschild villa, a country seat as beautiful as the surroundings. For miles the left bank of the lake is lined with summer residences, nestling among the lovely groves of fragrant trees.