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Page 8
Poppa's expression disparaged the idea, and he began to feel round for
his beard.
"If I were you," he said, "I wouldn't place much dependence on momma.
She'll be able to give you a few hints on sunsets and a pointer or two
about the various Venuses, likely--she's had photographs of several of
them in the house for years--but I expect it's going to be a question of
historical fact pretty often, and momma won't be in it. Not that I want
to choke momma off," he continued, "but she will necessitate a whole
reference library. And in some parts of Europe I believe they charge you
for every pound of luggage, including your lunch, if you don't happen to
have concealed it in your person."
"We'll have to pin her down to the guide-books," I remarked.
"That depends. I've always understood that the guide-book market was
largely controlled by Mr. Murray and Mr. Baedeker. Also, that Mr. Murray
writes in a vein of pretty lofty sentiment, while Mr. Baedeker is about
as interesting as a directory. Now where the right emotion is included
at the price I don't see the use of momma, but when it's a question of
Baedeker we might turn her on. See?"
"Poppa," I replied with emotion, "you will both be invaluable. I will
bid you good-night. I believe the electric light burns all night long in
the smoking-cabin, but that is not supposed to indicate that gentlemen
are expected to stay there till dawn. I see you have two Havanas left.
That will be quite enough for one evening. Good-night, poppa."
CHAPTER III.
All the way across momma implored me to become reconciled to Arthur. In
extreme moments, when it was very choppy, she composed telegrams on
lines which were to drive him wild with contrition without compromising
my dignity; and when I suggested the difficulty of tampering with the
Atlantic cable in mid-ocean without a diving machine, she wept, hinting
that, if I were a true daughter of hers, things would never have come to
such a pass. My position, from a filial point of view, was most trying.
I could not deny my responsibility for momma's woes--she never left her
cabin--yet I was powerless to put an end to them. Young women in novels
have thrown themselves into the arms of the wrong man under far less
parental pressure, but although it was indeed the hour the man was not
available. Neither, such was the irony of circumstances, would our
immediate union have affected the motion in the slightest degree. But
although I presented these considerations to momma many times a day, she
adhered so persistently to the idea of promoting a happy reunion that I
was obliged to keep a very careful eye on the possibility of
surreptitious messages from Liverpool. Once on dry land, however, momma
saw her duty in another light. I might say that she swallowed her
principles with the first meal she really enjoyed, after which she
expressed her conviction that it was best to let the dead past bury its
dead, so long as the obsequies did not necessitate her immediate return
to America.
I was looking forward immensely to observing the Senator in London,
remembering the effect it had upon my own imagination, but on our
arrival he conducted himself in a manner which can only be described as
non-committal. He went about with his hands in his pockets, smoking
large cigars with an air of reserved criticism that vastly impressed the
waiters, acquiescing in strawberry jam for breakfast, for example, in a
manner which said that, although this might be to him a new and complex
custom, he was acquainted with Chicago ones much more recondite. His air
was superior, but modestly so, and if he said nothing you would never
suppose it was because he had nothing to say. He meant to give Great
Britain a chance before he pronounced anything distinctly unfavourable
even to her steaks, and in the meantime to remember what an up-to-date
American owes to his country's reputation in the hotels of a foreign
town.
He was very much at his ease, and I saw him looking at a couple of just
introduced Englishmen embarking in conversation, as if he wondered what
could possibly be the matter with them. I am sorry that I can't say as
much for my other parent, but before monarchical institutions momma
weakened. She had moments of terrible indecision as to how to do her
hair, and I am certain it was not a matter of indifference to her that
she should make a good impression upon the head butler. Also, she
hesitated about examining the mounted Guardsman on duty at Whitehall,
preferring to walk past with a casual glance, as if she were accustomed
to see things quite as wonderful every day at home, whereas nothing to
approach it has ever existed in America, except in the imagination of
Mr. Barnum, and he is dead. And shopwalkers patronised her. I
congratulated myself sometimes that I was there to assert her dignity.
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