ed. "If that old Doge knew that the P. and O. was going to run
direct between Venice and Bombay every fortnight this year, he'd tell
you to turn out your gondolas silver-gilt!"

Nevertheless, as I say, the Senator's views were coldly received, with
one exception. A highly picturesque and intelligent gondolier, whom the
guide sought to convert to a sense of the anachronism of his clothes in
connection with his calling, promised that if we would give him a
definite engagement for next day, he would appear suitably clad. The
following morning he awaited us with honest pride in his Sunday apparel,
which included violently checked trousers, a hard felt hat, and a large
pink tie. The Senator paid him hurriedly and handsomely and dismissed
him with as little injury to his feelings as was possible under the
circumstances. "Tell him," said poppa to the guide, "to go home and take
off those pants. And tell him, do you understand, to _rush_!"

That same day, in the afternoon, I remember, when we were disembarking
for an ice at Florian's, momma directed our attention to two gentlemen
in an approaching gondola. "There's something about that man," she said
impressively, "I mean the one in the duster, that belongs to the reign
of Louis Philippe."

"There is," I responded; "we saw him last in the Petit Trianon. It's
Mr. Pabbley and Mr. Hinkson. Two more Transatlantic fellow-travellers.
Senator, when we meet them shall we greet them?"

The Senator had a moment of self-expostulation.

"Well, no," he said, "I guess not. I don't suppose we need feel obliged
to keep up the acquaintance of _every_ American we come across in
Europe. It would take us all our time. But I'd like to ask him what use
he finds for a duster in Venice."

"How I wish the Misses Bingham could hear you," I thought, but one
should never annoy one's parents unnecessarily, so I kept my reflections
to myself.

CHAPTER XX.

That last day in Venice we went, I remember, to the Lido. Nothing
happened, but I don't like leaving it out, because it was the last day,
and the next best thing to lingering in Venice is lingering on it. We
went in a steamboat, under protest from poppa, who said it might as well
be Coney Island until we got there, when he admitted points of
difference, and agreed that if people had to come all the way out in
gondolas, certain existing enterprises might as well go out of business.
The steamer was full of Venetians, and we saw that they we