“'Edinburgh, Leith,
Portobello, Musselburgh, and Dalkeith?'
—No, that's Kate's favorite geography lesson, 'cause she can sing it. I mean Rotterdam and Santander and Bilbao—all the lovely places on the map where a letter takes four days and a twopence-ha'penny stamp, and's mighty apt to smell of rope.”
“Oh, them!” said he, with the warmth of recollection; “they're not so bad—in fact, they're just A1. It's the like of there you see life and spend the money.”
“Have you been in Italy?” asked Bud. “I'd love to see that old Italy— for the sake of Romeo and Juliet, you know, and my dear, dear Portia.”
“I know,” said Charles. “Allow me! Perfect beauties, all fine, fine gyurls; but I don't think very much of dagoes. I have slept in their sailors' homes, and never hear Italy mentioned but I feel I want to scratch myself.”
“Dagoes!” cried Bud; “that's what Jim called them. Have you been in America?”
“Have I been in America? I should think I have,” said he, emphatically. “The Lakes. It's yonder you get value—two dollars a day and everywhere respected like a gentleman. Men's not mice out yonder in America.”
“Then you maybe have been in Chicago?” cried Bud, her face filled with a happy expectation as she pressed the dog in her arms till its fringe mixed with her own wild curls.
“Chicago?” said the Captain. “Allow me! Many a time. You'll maybe not believe it, but it was there I bought this hat.”
“Oh!” cried Bud, with the tears in her eyes, and speechless for a moment, “I—I—could just hug that hat. Won't you please let me—let me pat it?”