"Oh, he's very nice indeed," replied the second housemaid. "But he's not a gentleman. He helped me carry the coals upstairs yesterday."
"Could you spare me a trifle, sir?" asked the errand man in my street.
"I haven't had tea today."
It's a funny thing, that; isn't it?—our just being all "Americans"
(when we are not referred to as "Yankees" or "Yanks"). We are never
United Statesians. It is the "American Ambassador," and the "American
Consul-General." I have even heard Dr. Wilson referred to as the
"President of America."
One day I saw a tourist. He was an American, a young man I knew in New York. I found him going into the Houses of Parliament. I was fond of going in there frequently, and said I would accompany him.
With an easy stride, at a speed I should say of about two miles an hour, he walked straight through the Houses of Parliament; through the Norman porch, through the King's robing room, the Royal or Victoria gallery, the Prince's chamber, the sumptuously decorated House of Peers, the Peers' lobby, the spacious central hall, the Commons' corridor and the House of Commons; glancing about him the while at art and architecture, lavish magnificence and the eternal garments and symbols of history. Returning to the central hall, we passed through St. Stephen's and Westminster Hall and arrived again in the street.
"How long did it take us to do that?" said my friend, questioning his watch.
"Oh, about fifteen minutes," I replied.
He said he thought he would go across the way and "do" the Abbey next while he was in the neighbourhood.
I suppose I could have helped him in the matter of despatch, but I didn't think of it at the time. Later I heard of two Americans who drove up to the abbey in a taxi. Leaping out, one said to the other: "You do the outside and I'll do the inside, and that way we'll save a lot of time."
The thing a man does in America, of course, when he gets into a railroad train is to light a cigar and begin talking to the fellow next to him. There were two of us in the railway carriage compartment on my way down into Surrey. I made a number of amiable observations; I asked a number of pleasant questions. My object was to while away the time in human companionship. "Quite so," was his reply to observations.