"One can't travel anywhere now that's not foreign, Betsey," returned Mr. Dundyke, testily. "One can't humdrum up and down England in a stage-coach, as one used to do."
"True; but you said foreign. You don't mean America—or China—or any of those parts, do you, David?"
"It's never of no use talking to you about anything, Mrs. D.," said the common-councilman, in wrath. "Chinar! Why, it would be a life-journey! I shall go to Geneva."
"But, David, is not that very far?" she asked. "Where is it? Over in Greece, or Turkey, or some of those places."
"It is in Switzerland, Mrs. D. The tip-top quality go to it, and I mean to go. It will cost a good deal, I know; but I can stand that."
"And how shall we manage to talk Swiss?"
"There is no Swiss," answered Mr. Dundyke. "The language spoke there is French; the guide-book says so."
"It will be the same to us, David," she mildly said; "we cannot speak French."
"I know that 'we' means 'yes,' and 'no' means 'no.' We shall rub on well enough with that. So get all my stockings and shirts seen to, Betsey, and your own things; for the day after to-morrow I shall be off."