ican, and
considerably the biggest fraction of the travelling public. As poppa
said, the prevailing feeling was also American. As he was tucking his
napkin into his waistcoat, and ordering our various breakfasts, the
gentleman who sat next to him listened--he could not help it--fidgetted,
and finally, with some embarrassment, spoke.

"I don't know, sir," he said, "whether you're aware of it--I presume
you're a stranger, like myself--but all they _allow_ for what they call
breakfast in this hotel is tea or coffee, rolls, and butter; everything
else is charged extra."

Poppa was touched. As he said to me afterward, who but an American
would have taken the trouble to tell a stranger a thing like that! Not
an Englishman, certainly--he would see you bankrupt first! He disguised
his own sophistication, and said he was very much obliged, and he almost
apologised for not being able to take advantage of the information, and
stick to coffee and rolls.

"But the fact is," he said in self-defence, "we may get back for lunch
and we may not."

"That's all right," the gentleman replied with distinct relief. "I
didn't mind the omelette or the sole, but when it came to fried chicken
and strawberries I just had to speak out. You going to make a long stay
in Paris?"

As they launched to conversation momma and I glanced at each other with
mutual congratulation. It was at last obvious that the Senator was going
to enjoy his European experiences; we had been a little doubtful about
it. Left to ourselves, we discussed our breakfast and the waiters, the
only French people we could see from where we sat, and expressed our
annoyance, which was great, at being offered tooth-picks. I was so
hungry that it was only when I asked for a third large roll that I
noticed momma regarding me with mild disapproval.

"I fear," she said with a little sigh, "that you are thinking very
little of what is past and gone, love."

"Momma," I replied, "don't spoil my breakfast." When momma can throw an
emotional chill over anything, I never knew her to refrain. "I _should_
like that _garcon_ to bring me some more bread," I continued.

Momma sighed even more deeply. "You may have part of mine," she replied,
breaking it with a gesture that said such callousness she could not
understand. Her manner for the next few minutes expressed distinctly
that she, at least, meant to do her duty by Arthur.

Presently from the other side of poppa came the words, "_Not_ Wi