“Do you remember what Mark Twain said about people in olden times being born on the bridge, living on it all their lives, and finally dying on it, without having been in any other part of the world?” said Phil, looking about him with lively interest.
“Well, I don’t blame them much,” Jessie answered; “it is fascinating.”
“Yes; only they don’t have the heads of Dukes and things on spikes the way they used to,” Evelyn complained.
“Goodness, Evelyn, you can’t expect everything! Besides, you wouldn’t actually like to see those things,” cried Lucile, horrified.
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t like to look at them,” Evelyn retracted, embarrassed by so many laughing eyes upon her. “But if they were there, I just couldn’t help looking, could I?” she finished, lamely. 121
There was a shout, and Jessie exclaimed, “I do believe you’d enjoy being a cannibal, Evelyn. You and the black-skins certainly have a great many views in common.”
At last they had left the bridge behind and were once more speeding through the historic streets of London.
“The Abbey now, Dad?” Phil questioned, eagerly. “That’s what I came to Europe to see, you know.”
“Seems to me you’re getting mighty familiar,” commented Jessie. “Why don’t you call it by its full name?”
“Are we, Dad?” said Phil, ignoring the interruption.