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Page 22
"Oh, I guess I am," replied the serious man, "but not the United States
kind."
"British North," suggested the fat gentleman, with a smile that
acknowledged Her Majesty. "First cousin once removed," and momma and I
looked at one another intelligently. We had nothing against Canadians,
except that they generally talk as if they had the whole of the St.
Lawrence river and Niagara Falls in a perpetual lease from
Providence--and we had never seen so many of them together before. The
coach was three-quarters full of these foreigners, if the Misses
Bingham had only known; but as poppa afterwards said, they were probably
not foreign enough. It may have been imagination, but I immediately
thought I saw a certain meekness, a habit of deference--I wanted to
incite them all to treat the Guelphs as we did. Just then we stopped
before the church of St. Augustin, and the guide came swinging along the
outside of the coach hoarsely emitting facts. Everybody listened
intently, and I noticed upon the Canadian countenances the same
determination to be instructed that we always show ourselves. We all
meant to get the maximum amount of information for the price, and I
don't think any of us have forgotten that the site of St. Augustin is
three-cornered and its dome resembles a tiara to this day. For a moment
I was sorry for the Misses Bingham, who were absorbing nothing but dust;
but, as momma said, they looked very well informed.
It must be admitted that we were a little shy with the guide--we let him
bully us. As poppa said, he was certainly well up in his subject, but
that was no reason why he should have treated us as if we had all come
from St. Paul or Kansas City. There was a condescension about him that
was not explained by the state of his linen, and a familiarity that I
had always supposed confined exclusively to the British aristocracy
among themselves. He had a red face and a blue eye, with which he looked
down on us with scarcely concealed contempt, and he was marvellously
agile, distributing his information as open street-car conductors
collect fares.
"They seem extremely careful of their herbage in this town," remarked
the serious man, and we noticed that it was so. Precautions were taken
in wire that would have dissuaded a grasshopper from venturing on it. It
grew very neatly inside, doubtless with a certain _chic_, but it had a
look of being put on for the occasion that was essentially Parisian.
Also the trees grew up out of iron plates, which was uncomfortable,
though, no doubt, highly finished, and the flowers had a _cachet_ about
them which made one think of French bonnets. As we rolled into the Bois
it became evident that the guide had something special to communicate.
He raised his voice and coughed, in a manner which commanded instant
attention.
"Ladies--and genelmen," he said--he always added the gentleman as if
they were an after-thought--"you are mos' fortunate, mos' locky. _Tout
Paris_--all the folks--are still driving their 'orse an' carriage 'ere.
One week more--the style will be all gone--what you say--vamoosed? Every
mother's son! An' Cook's excursion party won't see nothin' but ole cabs
goin' along!"
"Can't we get away from them?" asked the serious person. It was
humorously intended--certainly a liberty, and the guide was down on it
in an instant.
"Get away from them? Not if they know you're here!"
At which the serious man looked still more serious, and sympathy for
him sprang up in every heart.
We passed Longchamps at a steady trot, and the guide's statement that
the races there were always held on Sunday was received with a silence
that evidently disappointed him. It was plain that he had a withering
rejoinder ready for sabbatarians, and he waited anxiously, balanced on
one foot, for an expression of shocked opinion. It was after we had
passed Mont Valerien, frowning on the horizon, that the man in the pink
cotton shirt began to grow restive under so much instruction. He told
the serious person that his name was Hinkson of Iowa, and the serious
person was induced to reply that his was Pabbley of Simcoe, Ontario. It
was insubordination--the guide was talking about the shelling from Mont
Valerien at the time, with the most patriotic dislocations in his
grammar.
"You understan', you see?" he concluded. "Now those two genelmen, they
_don'_ understan', and they _don'_ see. An' when they get back to the
United States they won' be able to tell their wives an' sweethearts
anythin' about Mont Valerien! All right, genelmen--please yourselves.
_Mais_ you please remember I am just like William Shekspeare--I give no
_rep�tition_!"
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