Miss T. I should have thought you'd be too polite to tell me so; but I was moving on, anyway.
[She goes on. Before Culchard can follow and explain, he finds himself accosted by Mr. Trotter.
Mr. T. I don't know as I'm as much struck by this Waterloo field as I expected, Sir. As an Amurrcan, I find it doesn't come up to some of our battlefields in the War. We don't blow about those battlefields, Sir, but for style and general picturesqueness, I ain't seen nothing this side to equal them. You ever been over? You want to come over and see our country—that's what you want to do. You mustn't mind me a-running on, but when I meet some one as I can converse with in my own language—well, I just about talk myself dry.
[He talks himself dry, until rejoined by the Guide with Podbury and Miss Trotter.
Guide (to Podbury). Leesten, I dell you. My vader—eighteen, no in ze Airmi, laboreur man—he see Napoleon standt in a saircle; officers roundt 'im. Boots, op to hier; green cott; vite vaiscott; vite laigs——
Podb. Your father's legs?
Guide (indignantly). No, Sare; my vader see Napoleon's laigs; leedle 'at, qvite plain; no faither—nossing.
Podb. But you just said you had a faither!
Guide. I say, Napoleon 'ad no faither—vat you call it?—plume—in 'is 'at, at ze bataille.
Podb. Are you sure? I thought the history books said he "stuck a feather in his hat, and called it Macaroni."