Oh! that first afternoon in New York, spent in the company of the interviewers; I shall never forget it!
The office of my manager, Major[10] Pond, was situated on the ground floor of the Everett House, where I had put up. Thither I repaired after lunch, to undergo the operation of tapping by eight interviewers at once.
"Ah!" said one of them, after the usual salutations, "we are going to bore you; so let us begin at the beginning."
Here I smiled.
"I know your first question," I said; "you are going to ask me whether it is the first time I have been in America."
"That is generally our first question, it is true; but I have another to ask you before. You have just eaten your first meal in America; what did you have?"
I submitted with a good grace, and replied as seriously as I could.
"Gentlemen, I have just been in for a piece of turbot, a beefsteak and potato chips, a celery salad, and a vanilla ice."
"And now," remarked another reporter, "I have an important question to put to you. I hope it will not astonish you."
"Oh, I am in America," I replied, "and quite ready not to be astonished at anything."