"Do you ride a bicycle?" I asked.
"Not at sea," he replied.
"What is your favorite wheel?" I asked.
"The last that is sent me by the maker," he answered.
"Do you use any tonic—hair, health, or otherwise—which you particularly recommend to authors?" I asked.
"I must refuse to answer that question until I have received the usual check," said Mr.—er—Peters.
"Do you still hold with the Spanish that Americans are pigs, and that New York is a trough?" I asked.
"There are exceptions, and when I last saw New York I was not a conscious witness of any particularly strong devotion to the pen," he answered, uneasily and evasively.
"Do you like the American climate?" I asked.
"Is there such a thing?" he asked, in return. "If there is, I didn't see it. You Americans are in the experimental stage of existence in weather as in government. I don't think you have as yet settled upon any settled climate. My experience has been that during any week in any season of the year you have a different climate for each day. I can say this, however, that your changes are such that the average is uncomfortable. It is hot one day and cold the next; baking the third; wintry the fourth; humid the fifth; dry the sixth; and on the seventh you begin with sunshine before breakfast, follow it up with rain before luncheon, and a sleigh ride after dinner."