Home—Sweet Home.
(With Variations.)
You over there, young man with the guide book, red bound, covered flexibly with red linen.
Come here, I want to talk with you; I, Walt, the Manhattanese, citizen of these States, call you.
Yes, and the courier, too, smirking, smug-mouthed, with oil’d hair; a garlickly look about him generally; him, too, I take in, just as I would a coyote, or a King, or a toad-stool, or a ham sandwich, or anything, or anybody else in the world.
Where are you going?
You want to see Paris, to eat truffles, to have a good time; in Vienna, London, Florence, Monaco, to have a good time; you want to see Venice.
Come with me. I will give you a good time; I will give you all the Venice you want, and most of the Paris.
I, Walt, I call to you! I am all on deck. Come and loafe with me! Let me take you around by your elbow and show you things.
You listen to my ophicleide!