. While Coglan was describing to me
the topography along the Siberian Railway the orchestra glided into a
medley. The concluding air was "Dixie," and as the exhilarating notes
tumbled forth they were almost overpowered by a great clapping of hands
from almost every table.

It is worth a paragraph to say that this remarkable scene can be
witnessed every evening in numerous cafes in the City of New York. Tons
of brew have been consumed over theories to account for it. Some have
conjectured hastily that all Southerners in town hie themselves to cafes
at nightfall. This applause of the "rebel" air in a Northern city does
puzzle a little; but it is not insolvable. The war with Spain, many
years' generous mint and watermelon crops, a few long-shot winners at
the New Orleans race-track, and the brilliant banquets given by the
Indiana and Kansas citizens who compose the North Carolina Society have
made the South rather a "fad" in Manhattan. Your manicure will lisp
softly that your left forefinger reminds her so much of a gentleman's in
Richmond, Va. Oh, certainly; but many a lady has to work now--the war,
you know.

When "Dixie" was being played a dark-haired young man sprang up from
somewhere with a Mosby guerrilla yell and waved frantically his
soft-brimmed hat. Then he strayed through the smoke, dropped into the
vacant chair at our table and pulled out cigarettes.

The evening was at the period when reserve is thawed. One of us
mentioned three Wuerzburgers to the waiter; the dark-haired young man
acknowledged his inclusion in the order by a smile and a nod. I hastened
to ask him a question because I wanted to try out a theory I had.

"Would you mind telling me," I began, "whether you are from--"

The fist of E. Rushmore Coglan banged the table and I was jarred into
silence.

"Excuse me," said he, "but that's a question I never like to hear asked.
What does it matter where a man is from? Is it fair to judge a man by
his post-office address? Why, I've seen Kentuckians who hated whiskey,
Virginians who weren't descended from Pocahontas, Indianians who hadn't
written a novel, Mexicans who didn't wear velvet trousers with silver
dollars sewed along the seams, funny Englishmen, spendthrift Yankees,
cold-blooded Southerners, narrow-minded Westerners, and New Yorkers who
were too busy to stop for an hour on the street to watch a one-armed
grocer's clerk do up cranberries in paper bags. Let a man be a man and
don't handicap hi