Momma said she didn't, and Miss Malt disappeared in search of other performers. "Don't you go asking strangers to play, Emmeline," her mother called after her. "They'll think it forward of you."
"When Emmeline leaves us," said her father, "I always have a kind of abandoned feeling, like a top that's got to the end of its spin."
There was silence for a moment, and then the Senator said he thought he could understand that.
"Well," continued Mr. Malt, "you've had three whole days now. I presume you're beginning to know your way around."
"I think we may say we've made pretty good use of our time," responded the Senator. "This morning we had a look in at the Luxembourg picture gallery, and the Madeleine, and Napoleon's Tomb, and the site of the Bastile. This afternoon we took a run down to Notre Dame Cathedral. That's a very fine building, sir."
"You saw the Morgue, of course, when you were in that direction," remarked Mr. Malt.
"Why no," poppa confessed, "we haven't taken much of liking for live Frenchmen, up to the present, and I don't suppose dead ones would be any more attractive."
"Oh, there's nothing unpleasant," said Mrs. Malt, "nothing that you can notice."
"Nothing at all," said Mr. Malt. "They refrigerate them, you know. We send our beef to England by the same process——"
"There are people," the Senator interrupted, "who never can see anything amusing in a corpse."