And, finally, because I don't believe he's true.

I don't believe in these heroes and heroines that cannot keep quiet in a
foreign language they have taught themselves in an old-world library. My
fixed idea is that they muddle along like the rest of us, surprised that
so few people understand them, begging everyone they meet not to talk so
quickly. These brilliant conversations with foreign philosophers! These
passionate interviews with foreign countesses! They fancy they have had
them.

I crossed once with an English lady from Boulogne to Folkestone. At
Folkestone a little French girl--anxious about her train--asked us a
simple question. My companion replied to it with an ease that astonished
herself. The little French girl vanished; my companion sighed.

"It's so odd," said my companion, "but I seem to know quite a lot of
French the moment I get back to England."

CHAPTER XIII

How to be Healthy and Unhappy.

"They do say," remarked Mrs. Wilkins, as she took the cover off the dish
and gave a finishing polish to my plate with the cleanest corner of her
apron, "that 'addicks, leastways in May, ain't, strictly speaking, the
safest of food. But then, if you listen to all they say, it seems to me,
we'd have to give up victuals altogether."

"The haddock, Mrs. Wilkins," I replied, "is a savoury and nourishing
dish, the 'poor man's steak' I believe it is commonly called. When I was
younger, Mrs. Wilkins, they were cheaper. For twopence one could secure
a small specimen, for fourpence one of generous proportions. In the
halcyon days of youth, when one's lexicon contained not the word failure
(it has crept into later editions, Mrs. Wilkins, the word it was found
was occasionally needful), the haddock was of much comfort and support to
me, a very present help in time of trouble. In those days a kind friend,
without intending it, nearly brought about my death by slow starvation. I
had left my umbrella in an omnibus, and the season was rainy. The kind
rich friend gave me a new umbrella; it was a rich man's umbrella; we made
an ill-assorted pair. Its handle was of ivory, imposing in appearance,
ornamented with a golden snake.

The unsympathetic Umbrella.

"Following my own judgment I should have pawned that umbrella, purchased
one more suited to my state in life, and 'blued' the difference. But I
was fearful of offending my one respectable acquaintance, and for weeks
struggled on, h