“See Naples and die,” quoted Uncle.
“Among my grandfather’s papers,” said Mr. Bang, “is a letter from one of his staff when on a visit to Naples in 1823. The writer says he would value the place more, if there was less noise and more honesty.”
“There is Pompeii,” suggested Mumsie. “That’s some compensation.”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Bang reflectively, “there is Pompeii. Pompeii will always remind me of Captain Jinks, an English gentleman-guide, who according to his own account, had already gone through two fortunes, and, unsatisfied with past exploits, wanted to go through mine.”
Mr. Bang paused for us to laugh, though my mirth must have sounded hollow, for I merely followed Uncle’s example. I could not see anything clever in the remark.
“The vast majority of people,” Mr. Bang continued, “who go to Italy in the winter are of the Mrs. Mount type, mere slaves of silly fashion. Jinks told me of a Yankee, who gave him a commission at five hundred dollars, to write a genealogy, tracing his descent from a citizen of Pompeii, who, as a butcher, flourished previous to A.D. 78. The only fact upon which the descent was to be based was a fancied similarity of names.”
Now was my chance; I cut in.
“It is a puzzle to me, Mr. Bang, that with all your varied experiences, you have never attempted to write a book.”
“He has literary ideas too,” seconded Mumsie, evidently approving of my attempt at conversation.
“Perhaps, some day,” gravely responded the adventurer, “in the meantime I am supplying Timkins with mighty thoughts.”