“Good Heavens! let me get you a new trunk! It isn’t too late!” And he rushed off like a man half distracted.
But it wuz too late, for the bell rung in a minute, and we sot sail.
But Martin never see it durin’ that hull trip but he looked on it with that same look of or—a kind of a dark, questionin’ or.
Alice jest laughed when she see it. She liked its looks, we could see, though she didn’t come right out and say so.
But Adrian sed it wuz the most beautiful thing he ever saw in his life. And he beset Josiah to put his name on one of their trunks with the same kind of nails.
And Josiah, who had took a few along to repair damages in ourn, in case we should lose some of the nails, or some envious Englishman should steal ’em out, stood ready to do it.
But Martin broke it up. I guess he thought that Adrian wuz too young to go into sech extravagances. They had four trunks between ’em, but not so much luggage as the English carry round with ’em. They beat all, baskets, bundles, portmantys—as they call their trunks—and hat-boxes and rugs and bath-tubs.
The idee! What would we be thought on in America if we lugged round sech things. Josiah, who always hankers after style, sed he was most sorry we didn’t take our enamelled wash-dish. Sez he, “It would have looked dretful genteel;” sez he, “We could have lashed it to our trunk with some red cord, and it would have looked so stylish.”
“Oh, shaw!” sez I.
“Wall,” sez he, “when you’re in Rome, do as the Romans do, and,” sez he, “I’d love to let the English that carry round their bath-tubs see that ‘U. S.,’ the ones that own that trunk, know what gentility is and what style is.”