AMERICA[1]
“How do you like America?”
“Oh,” I said, “are we there?”
“Soon will be,” he answered. “How do you pronounce your name?”
I told him. He repeated it louder, for the benefit of the others—some dozen of them, grouped around him. They made a note of it.
“What would you say was the difference between English and American humour?”
A chill north wind was blowing, and I hadn't had my breakfast. I did my best.
“These things,” I said, “are a natural growth, springing from the soil. In England, to go no further back than Chaucer——” Nobody was listening. They were all busy writing. I wondered where they had come from. Out of the sea, apparently. I had been pacing the deck, scanning the horizon for my first sight of New York, and suddenly had found myself in the midst of them. Their spokesman was a thick-set, red-haired gentleman. He had a military manner. The rest were a mixed collection. Some of them looked to me to be mere boys.
“Say, can you tell us a story?” he questioned me.
I stared at him. “A story?” I repeated. “You want me to tell you a story?”