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Page 7
"We are always twisting a tail," I said reproachfully, "that does
nothing but wag at us."
This poppa reluctantly admitted with the usual reference to the Irish
vote. We both hoped sincerely that any English friends who saw that
speech, and paused to realise that the orator was a parent of mine,
would consider the number of Irish resident in Illinois, and the amount
of invective which their feelings require. Poppa doesn't really know
sometimes whether he is himself or a shillelagh, but whatever his
temporary political capacity he is never ungrateful. He went on to give
me the particulars of his interview with the President about the Chicago
Post Office, and then I gradually unfolded my intention of preparing our
foreign experiences as a family for publication in book form. While I
was unfolding it poppa eyed me askance.
"Is that usual?" he inquired.
"Very usual indeed," I replied.
"I mean--under the circumstances?"
"Under what circumstances?" I demanded boldly. I knew that nothing would
induce him to specify them.
"Oh, I only meant--it wasn't exactly my idea."
"What was your idea--exactly?" It was mean of me to put poppa to the
blush, but I had to define the situation.
"Oh," said he, with unlooked-for heroism, "I was basing my calculations
with reference to you on the distractions of change--Paris dry-goods,
rowing round Venice in gondolas, riding through the St. Gothard tunnel,
and the healing hand of time. I don't intend to give a day less than six
weeks to it. I'm looking forward to the tranquilising effect of the
antique some myself," he added, hedging. "I find these new self-risers
that we've undertaken to carry almost more than my temperament can
stand. They went up from an output of five hundred dollars to six
hundred and fifty thousand, and back again inside seven days last month.
I'm looking forward to examining something that hasn't moved for a
couple of thousand years with considerable pleasure."
"Poppa," said I, ignoring the self-risers, "if you were as particular
about the quality of your fiction as you are about the quality of your
table-butter, you would know that the best heroines never have recourse
to such measures now. They are simply obsolete. Except for my literary
intention, I should be ashamed to go to Europe at all--under the
circumstances. But that, you see, brings the situation up to date. I
transmit my European impressions through the prism of damaged affection.
Nothing could be more modern."
"I see," replied poppa, rubbing his chin searchingly, which is his
manner of expressing sagacious doubt. His beard descends from the lower
part of his chin in the long unfettered American manner, without which
it is impossible for _Punch_ to indicate a citizen of the United States.
When he positively disapproves he pulls it severely.
"But Europe's been done before, you know," he continued. "In fact, I
don't know any continent more popular than Europe with people that want
to publish books of travel. It's been done before."
"Never," I rejoined, "in connection with you, poppa!"
Poppa removed his hand from his chin.
"Oh, if I'm to assist, that's quite another anecdote," he said briskly.
"I didn't understand you intended to ring me in. Of course, I don't mean
to imply there is any special prejudice against books of travel in
Europe. About how many pages did you think of running it to?"
"My idea was three hundred," I replied.
"And how many words to a page?"
"Two hundred and fifty--more or less."
"That's seventy-five thousand words! Pretty big undertaking, if you look
at it in bulk."
"We shall have to rely upon momma," I remarked.
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