"No, no! A town with a Chinese name, where the lady that wrote Uncle Tom's Cabin lives," interposed Owen impatiently.
"Mandarin," I added, after I had consulted a pamphlet guide I had picked up in one of the hotels. "It is fifteen miles from here."
"That's the place; and it is just the right distance!" exclaimed Owen. "We will go to Mandarin. By the way, you must have a lunch on board about twelve."
"All this is quite practicable."
"And why can't you take the steamer up to the pier at Mrs. Mitchell's place?" demanded my passenger.
"Because the bottom is too near the top of the water," I replied, laughing at the puzzled expression on my cousin's face.
"Couldn't you have the bottom put farther down for this occasion?" he inquired very seriously.
"Certainly, if you are willing to pay the bills and to wait long enough for the work to be done."
"I don't object to the bills, but we can't wait."
"I see that you have become quite an American traveller; you don't dispute any bills, and you can't wait."