His fingers, cravat, and shirt-front sparkle with diamonds.
In conversation, he attacks all subjects imaginable with complete assurance. He talks tall, and through the nose. He does not raise his voice much. He buzzes rather than speaks: at a certain distance you think you hear the droning of bagpipes.
Meeting you in a railway-carriage, he will ask you point-blank where you are going, what you are doing, and where you come from. By degrees he grows bolder, and, if the fancy takes him, he will touch the cloth of your coat, and ask you, "What did you give for that?" He has not the least intention of being disagreeable. This is not an act of rudeness, but one of good fellowship. He, on his part, will give you all the information you care to have about himself. He takes it for granted that you are as inquisitive as he is, and he is ready to satisfy your curiosity. He is obliging.
This man, whom you began by taking for some ignorant babbler, presently gives to his conversation a turn that astonishes you. He speaks to you of France in a way which shows you that he is conversant with all that is going on there. The sayings and doings of General "Bolangère" are familiar to him. He knows the names of the chief members of the Ministry. He is interested in M. Pasteur's researches; he has read a review of M. Renan's last book, and of M. Sardou's latest play. He has judicious remarks to make upon literature. He knows his Shakespeare, as not one Frenchman of his class knows Corneille, Racine, Molière, or Victor Hugo. You discover that he is well-read, this man who says I come for I came, you was, you didn't ought, I don't know as I do, etc. He can give you information about his country as useful as it is exact.
He talks politics—even foreign politics—like a man of sense. He is far more enlightened on the Irish question than most people are in England. The ordinary Englishman is Conservative or Liberal without knowing very well why—generally because his father was, or is, the one or the other. Ask him why the Irish have been complaining for centuries of the way the English govern them, he can rarely give you anything but commonplaces in reply: "We conquered them, they ought to obey us;" or, "We cannot allow the Irish to dismember the United Kingdom," as if unity did not consist in living in harmony, as if the Union of the United States was in danger because each State governs itself in its own fashion. I must say the ordinary Englishman, who is in favour of Home Rule for Ireland, does not base his opinion upon arguments more serious or more solid: "Mr. Gladstone says it is right;" he does not go much deeper than that. Neither knows the history of Ireland, or the origin of the land tenure in that unhappy country.
This same American talks theology. He discusses the Bible. He reads the writings of Colonel Ingersoll, refuting that gentleman's ideas or accepting his conclusions.
In a word, you thought you were in the company of an ignorant bore of a bagman, and you have had one or two hours' talk with an intelligent and interesting man.
CHAPTER XXXI.
American Activity.—Expression of the Faces.—Press the Button, S.V.P.—Marketing in the House.—Magic Tables.—The Digestive Apparatus in Danger.—Gentlemen of Leisure.—Labour Laws.—A Six Days' Journey to go to a Banquet.—My Manager cuts out Work for me.—A Journalist on a Journey.—"Don't wait dinner, am off to Europe."