e knowledge of Europe is limited to one
"bang-up trip, and there wasn't much we missed, y'know," by being able to
tell him the order in which he visited places. It is an easy thing to
do. You simply have to notice how the tourist compares cities and other
"sights." He is blissfully ignorant of the fact that his positive
judgments, his unhesitating preferences are accidental. They do not
express at all his real tastes and his real appreciation of values.
However cultivated and intelligent an observer he may be, unless he has
carefully weighed and made proper allowance for the influence of
itinerary, his judgments and preferences are not to be taken seriously.
For years I honestly believed that the Rue de la Porte Rosette was one of
the finest streets in the world. I told my friends of it. But when
Alexandria was revisited, the Rue de la Porte Rosette was a shabby
thoroughfare. After a year in the interior of Asia Minor, the Rue de la
Porte Rosette was the first street through which I drove in coming back
to European civilization. The next time I saw it I was fresh from years
of constant residence in Paris. In my memory, Sofia is a gem of an
up-to-date city, while Bucharest is a poor imitation of the occidental
municipality. The chances are more than even that my comparative
estimate of the two Balkan capitals is wholly wrong. For each time I
have visited Sofia, it was in coming from Turkey, while stops at
Bucharest have followed immediately after Buda-Pest and Odessa.

I wandered through the cathedral quarter with less enthusiasm than was
its due, and soon decided to rejoin the Artist. He was not in the
neighborhood of any of the Roman ruins. He was not sitting behind an
_aperitif_ on a cafe terrace. He was not watching soldiers play football
in the courtyard of the barracks. He was not sketching the Norman tower.
He was not exploring alleys of the medieval quarter. He was not looking
at hydroplanes over the fence of the aerodrome. My quest had led me
unconsciously back to the beach. There was still an hour before our
rendezvous. But where we had stretched in the sand after lunch was a
delightful spot, and I had remembered to have my pouch filled at a tabac.
I was not going to feel bored waiting for him. Where the laborers were
working on the pier, the black soldier guards called out to me to beware
of danger. Not being skilled in dodging construction machinery I gave it
a wide berth. The place of ou