d in
your head same as so much drawn butter. But French is different; FRENCH
ain't anything. I ain't any more afraid of French than a tramp's afraid
of pie; I can rattle off my little J'AI, TU AS, IL A, and the rest of
it, just as easy as a-b-c. I get along pretty well in Paris, or anywhere
where they speak French. What hotel are you stopping at?"

"The Schweitzerhof."

"No! is that so? I never see you in the big reception-room. I go in
there a good deal of the time, because there's so many Americans there.
I make lots of acquaintances. You been up the Rigi yet?"

"No."

"Going?"

"We think of it."

"What hotel you going to stop at?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then you stop at the Schreiber--it's full of Americans. What ship
did you come over in?"

"CITY OF CHESTER."

"Oh, yes, I remember I asked you that before. But I always ask everybody
what ship they came over in, and so sometimes I forget and ask again.
You going to Geneva?"

"Yes."

"What hotel you going to stop at?"

"We expect to stop in a pension."

"I don't hardly believe you'll like that; there's very few Americans in
the pensions. What hotel are you stopping at here?"

"The Schweitzerhof."

"Oh, yes. I asked you that before, too. But I always ask everybody what
hotel they're stopping at, and so I've got my head all mixed up with
hotels. But it makes talk, and I love to talk. It refreshes me up
so--don't it you--on a trip like this?"

"Yes--sometimes."

"Well, it does me, too. As long as I'm talking I never feel bored--ain't
that the way with you?"

"Yes--generally. But there are exception to the rule."

"Oh, of course. I don't care to talk to everybody, MYSELF. If a person
starts in to jabber-jabber-jabber about scenery, and history, and
pictures, and all sorts of tiresome things, I get the fan-tods mighty
soon. I say 'Well, I must be going now--hope I'll see you again'--and
then I take a walk. Where you from?"

"New Jersey."

"Why, bother it all, I asked you THAT before, too. Have you seen the
Lion of Lucerne?"

"Not yet."

"Nor I, either. But the man who told me about Mount Pilatus says it's
one of the things to see. It's twenty-eight feet long. It don't seem
reasonable, but he said so, anyway. He saw it yesterday; said it was
dying, then, so I reckon it's dead by this time. But that ain't any
matter, of course they'll stuff it. Did you say the children are
yours--or HERS?"

"Mine."

"Oh, so you did. Are you going up t