it was the Coffee Room.
I suppose likely that was an answer, but I felt a good deal as if I'd
come out of the same hole I went in at. She thanked me for askin' her,
though; she never forgets that."

We became accustomed to addressing the lordly Henry by his Christian
name and found him a most obliging person. He, like everyone else,
had instantly recognized us as Americans, and, consequently, was
condescendingly kind to strangers from a distant and barbarous country.

"What SORT of place do they think the States are?" asked Hephzy. "That's
what they always call home--'the States'--and they seem to think it's
about as big as a pocket handkerchief. That Henry asked me if the red
Indians were numerous where we lived. I said no--as soon as I could say
anything; I told him there was only one tribe of Red Men in town and
they were white. I guess he thought I was crazy, but it don't make any
difference. And Peters said she had a cousin in a place called Chicago
and did I know him. What do you think of that?"

"What did you tell her?" I inquired.

"Hey? Oh, I told her that, bein' as Chicago was a thousand miles from
Bayport, I hadn't had time to do much visitin' there. I told her the
truth, but she didn't believe it. I could see she didn't. She thinks
Chicago and San Francisco and New York and Boston are nests of wigwams
in the same patch of woods and all hands that live there have been
scalped at least once. SUCH ignorance!"

Henry, at my request, procured seats for us at one of the London
theaters. There we saw a good play, splendidly acted, and Hephzy laughed
and wept at the performance. As usual, however, she had a characteristic
comment to make.

"Why do they call the front seats the 'stalls'?" she whispered to me
between the acts. "Stalls! The idea! I'm no horse. Perhaps they call 'em
that because folks are donkeys enough to pay two dollars and a half
for the privilege of sittin' in 'em. Don't YOU be so extravagant again,
Hosy."

One of the characters in the play was supposed to be an American
gentleman, and his behavior and dress and speech stirred me to
indignation. I asked the question which every American asks under
similar circumstances.

"Why on earth," I demanded, "do they permit that fellow to make such
a fool of himself? He yells and drawls and whines through his nose and
wears clothes which would make an American cry. That last scene was
supposed to be a reception and he wore an outing suit and no wais