"America," so we argued, "is a much larger country than Ireland. It is much richer. The buildings in its cities are far higher. Who are we that we should set up our opinions about tea or skins or anything else against the settled convictions of so great a people?"
Therefore, though we brought our coat into America, we did so in no spirit of defiance. Once we found out the truth, we concealed the coat as much as possible, carrying it about folded up so that only the lining showed. It was hardly ever worn, only twice, I think, the whole time we were there. The weather, indeed, was as a rule particularly warm for that season of the year.
CHAPTER II
PRESSMEN AND POLITICIANS
Our ship, after a prosperous and pleasant voyage, steamed up the Hudson River in a blinding downpour of rain which drove steadily across the decks. Our clothes had been packed up since very early in the morning, and we declined to get soaked to the skin when there was no chance of our being able to get dry again for several hours. Therefore, we missed seeing the Statue of Liberty and the Woolworth Building. We were cowards, and we suffered for our cowardice by losing what little respect our American fellow travelers may have had for us. They went out in the rain to gaze at the Statue of Liberty and the Woolworth Building. We saw nothing through the cabin windows except an advertisement of Colgate's tooth paste. The Woolworth Building we did indeed see later on. The Statue of Liberty we never saw at all. I could of course write eloquently about it without having seen it. Many people do things of this kind, but I desire to be perfectly honest. I leave out the Statue of Liberty. I am perfectly sure it is there; but beyond that fact I know nothing whatever about it.
We actually landed, set foot at last on the soil of the new world, a little before 8 a.m., which is a detestable hour of the day under any circumstances, and particularly abominable in a downpour of rain. If a stranger with whom I was very slightly acquainted were to land at that hour in Dublin, and if it were raining as hard there as it did that morning in New York—it never does, but it is conceivable that it might—I should no more think of going to meet him at the quay than I should think of swimming out a mile or two to wave my hand at his ship as she passed. A year ago I should have made this confession without the smallest shame. It would not have occurred to me as possible that I should make such an expedition. If a very honored guest arrived at a reasonable hour and at an accessible place—steamboat quays are never accessible anywhere in the world—if the day were fine and I had nothing particular to do, I might perhaps go to meet that guest, and I should expect him to be surprised and gratified. I now confess this with shame, and I intend to reform my habits. I blush hotly when I think of the feelings of Americans who come to visit us. They behave very much better than we do to strangers. There were three people to meet us that morning when we landed and two others arrived at the quay almost immediately afterwards. Of the five there was only one whom I had ever seen before, and him no oftener than twice. Yet they were there to shake our hands in warm welcome, to help us in every conceivable way, to whisper advice when advice seemed necessary.
There were also newspaper reporters, interviewers, and we had our first experience of that business as the Americans do it, in the shed where our baggage was examined by Custom House officers.
"Don't," said one of my friends, "say more than you can help about religion."
The warning seemed to me unnecessary. I value my religion, not as much as I ought to, but highly. Still it is not a subject which I should voluntarily discuss at eight o'clock in the morning in a shed with rain splashing on the roof. The very last thing I should dream of offering a newspaper reporter is a formal proof of any of the articles of the Apostle's Creed. Nor would any interviewer whom I ever met care to listen to a sermon. I was on the point of resenting the advice; but I reflected in time that it was certainly meant for my good and that the ways of the American interviewer were strange to me. He might want to find out whether I could say my catechism. I thanked my friend and promised to mention religion as little as possible. I confess that the warning made me nervous.
"What," I whispered, "are they likely to ask me?"
"Well, what you think of America, for one thing. They always begin with that."