‘Really, Mr Slimm, I have never seen the Tower.’
‘Wall, if this don’t beat snakes! Never seen the Tower!’ exclaimed the American, chipping his third egg. ‘Maybe you never heard of a picturesque pile known to the inquiring stranger as the British Museum?—Now, have you ever heard of Westminster Abbey?’
‘Well,’ said Edgar laughingly, ‘I believe I have; but I must confess that I have never been inside either of the places you mention.’
‘Wonderful! Mr Seaton, you’re born to make a name. The man who can pass these places without emotion, ain’t no common shake. I guess you’re the kind of matter they make genius out of.’
‘You seem to be astonished. Surely, in New York, you have buildings and churches quite as fine as anything in London?’
‘You think so, do you? Wall, if it’s any consolation to you, keep on thinking so; it won’t hurt any one.—Mr Seaton,’ continued Slimm, lowering his voice reverently, ‘when I get pottering about down at Westminster, and look at the Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, strike me if I don’t wish I was a Britisher myself!’
‘That is high praise indeed; and I think it is due to your native patriotism to say your approval does you credit. But candidly, it always struck me that our Houses of Parliament are particularly mean-looking for their position.’
‘Maybe, maybe,’ Mr Slimm replied meditatively; ‘but there’s something about them that makes me feel chockful of poetry. When I wander into the Abbey among these silent stones and listen to that grand organ, I feel it does me good.’
‘You do not look like a man who took any particular delight in music.’
‘I don’t, and that’s a fact. I don’t know F sharp from a bull’s foot; but I can feel it. When the artist presiding at the instrument pulls out that wonderful stop like a human voice, I feel real mean, and that’s a fact—yes, sir.’