“The first you have seen? Ah, well, I might have guessed that.”
“Why? Do I look so countrified?” I inquired, with real interest, as I let him lead me to a little side bench, and place himself beside me. I asked in all good faith. About him there seemed such a cosmopolitan ease, that I felt sure he could tell me correctly how I struck other people—if he would.
“Countrified—what is that?”
“Oh, we say it when people are like me—have never seen anything but their own little village, and never had any adventures, and—”
“Get lost at railway stations, und so weiter. I don’t know enough of the meaning of ‘countrified’ to be able to say if you are so, but it is easy to see that you—have not had much contention with the powers that be.”
“Oh, I shall not be stupid long,” said I, comfortably. “I am not going back home again.”
“So!” He did not ask more, but I saw that he listened, and proceeded communicatively:
“Never. I have—not quarreled with them exactly, but had a disagreement, because—because—”
“Because?”
“They wanted me to—I mean, an old gentleman—no, I mean—”