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Page 29
"_Don't_ look over, Alexander," said momma. "It will fill you with a
wild desire to throw yourself down. It is said _always_ to have that
effect."
"'The past ends in this plain at your feet,'" quoted poppa critically
from the guide-book, "'the future will there be fulfilled.' I suppose
they did feel a bit uppish when they'd got as high as this--but you'd
think France was about the only republic at present doing business,
wouldn't you?"
I pointed out the Pantheon down below and St. Etienne du Mont, and poppa
was immediately filled with a poignant regret that we had spent so much
time seeing public buildings on foot. "Whereas," said he, "from our
present point of view we could have done them all in ten minutes. As it
is, we shall be in a position to say we've seen everything there is to
be seen in Paris. Bramley won't be able to tell us it's a pity we've
missed anything. However," he continued, "we must be conscientious about
it. I've no desire to play it low down on Bramley. Let us walk round and
pick out the places of interest he's most likely to expect to catch us
on, and look at them separately. I should hate to think I wasn't telling
the truth about a thing like that."
We walked round and specifically observed the "Ecole des Beaux Arts,"
the "Palais d'Industrie," "Liberty Enlightening the World," and other
objects, poppa carefully noting against each of them "seen from Eiffel
Tower." As we made our way to the river side we noticed four other
people, two ladies and two gentlemen, looking at the military balloon
hanging over Meudon. They all had their backs to us, and there was to me
something dissimilarly familiar about three of those backs. While I was
trying to analyse it one of the gentlemen turned, and caught sight of
poppa. In another instant the highest elevation yet made by engineering
skill was the scene of three impetuous American handclasps, and four
impulsive American voices were saying, "Why how _do_ you do!" The
gentleman was Mr. Richard Dod of Chicago, known to our family without
interruption since he wore long clothes. Mr. Dod had come into his
patrimony and simultaneously disappeared in the direction of Europe six
months before, since when we had only heard vaguely that he had lost
most of it, but was inalterably cheerful; and there was nobody,
apparently, he expected so little or desired so much to see in Paris as
the Senator, momma and me. Poppa called him "Dick, my boy," momma called
him "my dear Dicky," I called him plain "Dick," and when this had been
going on for, possibly, five minutes, the older and larger of the two
ladies of the party swung round with a majesty I at once associated with
my earlier London experiences, and regarded us through her _pince nez_.
There was no mistaking her disapproval. I had seen it before. We were
Americans and she was Mrs. Portheris of Half Moon-street, Piccadilly. I
saw that she recognised me and was trying to make up her mind whether,
in view of the complication of Mr. Dod, to bow or not. But the woman who
hesitates is lost, even though she be a British matron of massive
prejudices and a figure to match. In Mrs. Portheris's instant of
vacillation, I stepped forward with such enthusiasm that she was
compelled to take down her _pince nez_ and hold out a superior hand. I
took it warmly, and turned to my parents with a joy which was not in the
least affected. "Momma," I exclaimed, "try to think of the very last
person who would naturally cross your mind--our relation, Mrs.
Portheris. Poppa, allow me to introduce you to your aunt--Mrs.
Portheris. Your far distant nephew from Chicago, Mr. Joshua Peter Wick."
It was a moment to be remembered--we all said so afterwards. Everything
hung upon Mrs. Portheris's attitude. But it was immediately evident that
Mrs. Portheris considered parents of any kind excusable, even
commendable! Her manner said as much--it also implied, however, that she
could not possibly be held responsible for transatlantic connections by
a former marriage. Momma was nervous, but collected. She bowed a distant
Wastgaggle bow, an heirloom in the family, which gave Mrs. Portheris to
understand that if any cordiality was to characterise the occasion, it
would have to emanate from her. Besides, Mrs. Portheris was poppa's
relation, and would naturally have to be guarded against. Poppa, on the
other hand, was cordiality itself--he always is.
"Why, is that so?" said poppa, looking earnestly at Mrs. Portheris and
firmly retaining her hand. "Is this my very own Aunt Caroline?"
"At one time," responded Mrs. Portheris with a difficult smile, "and, I
fear, by marriage only."
"Ah, to be sure, to be sure! Poor Uncle Jimmy gave place to another. But
we won't say anything more about that. Especially as you've been equally
unfortunate with your second," said poppa sympathetically. "Well, I'm
sure I'm pleased to meet you--glad to shake you by the hand." He gave
that member one more pressure as he spoke and relinquished it.
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