Monsieur Charloix arose from his chair quickly and offered it, with a Frenchman’s elaborate courtesy, to Mrs. Payton. When they were again seated, this time in a cozy little semicircle, Mr. Payton repeated his question and the girls listened eagerly for the reply.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Jessie managed to whisper. “Now we are going to have the story.”
“Yes,” came, in the gentle, modulated tones, “Monsieur is right; I am not a stranger to America.”
“And you like our country?” said Mrs. Payton, adding, with a laugh, “Do not be afraid to tell the truth; we shall not be offended.”
“Ah, but that is where Madam does me great injustice,” said the stranger, with a smile. “There is no country in the world for which I have so great respect and admiration as I have for your great America. It has been my misfortune that, in my flying visits, I have had so little time and opportunity to make the acquaintance of so great a nation.”
“Hip-hip-hooray!” cried Phil, the irrepressible, taking possession of the chair next to Jessie. “It’s good to have the old country boosted when you’re so far away.”
“Phil,” protested his mother, “I do wish you could get along without so much slang.”
“He’ll be engaging an interpreter next,” murmured Jessie, at which the culprit looked his reproach. 85
“I hope you will pardon the interruption, Monsieur Charloix,” said Mrs. Payton, apologetically, and her husband added, “Our excuse for Phil is that he is young and still has much to learn, although it is mighty hard to convince him of the truth of that last fact,” at which scathing remark, delivered with a twinkle that was lost in the dark, Phil looked almost cast down, until Jessie declared in a whisper “that she loved slang,” accompanying the declaration with a comforting little pat that cheered him immensely.
“No apologies, Madame and Monsieur,” the Frenchman was saying. “I was once a boy myself. The slang has many advantages which the more flowery language has not; it is, at least, much to the point.”