d
citizens of this country abroad. I've seen men from Chicago sit in a
gondola in Venice on a moonlight night and brag about their drainage
canal. I've seen a Southerner on being introduced to the King of England
hand that monarch, without batting his eyes, the information that
his grand-aunt on his mother's side was related by marriage to the
Perkinses, of Charleston. I knew a New Yorker who was kidnapped for
ransom by some Afghanistan bandits. His people sent over the money and
he came back to Kabul with the agent. 'Afghanistan?' the natives said to
him through an interpreter. 'Well, not so slow, do you think?' 'Oh, I
don't know,' says he, and he begins to tell them about a cab driver at
Sixth avenue and Broadway. Those ideas don't suit me. I'm not tied down
to anything that isn't 8,000 miles in diameter. Just put me down as E.
Rushmore Coglan, citizen of the terrestrial sphere."

My cosmopolite made a large adieu and left me, for he thought he saw
some one through the chatter and smoke whom he knew. So I was left with
the would-be periwinkle, who was reduced to Wuerzburger without further
ability to voice his aspirations to perch, melodious, upon the summit of
a valley.

I sat reflecting upon my evident cosmopolite and wondering how the poet
had managed to miss him. He was my discovery and I believed in him. How
was it? "The men that breed from them they traffic up and down, but
cling to their cities' hem as a child to the mother's gown."

Not so E. Rushmore Coglan. With the whole world for his--

My meditations were interrupted by a tremendous noise and conflict in
another part of the cafe. I saw above the heads of the seated patrons E.
Rushmore Coglan and a stranger to me engaged in terrific battle. They
fought between the tables like Titans, and glasses crashed, and men
caught their hats up and were knocked down, and a brunette screamed, and
a blonde began to sing "Teasing."

My cosmopolite was sustaining the pride and reputation of the Earth when
the waiters closed in on both combatants with their famous flying wedge
formation and bore them outside, still resisting.

I called McCarthy, one of the French _garcons_, and asked him the cause
of the conflict.

"The man with the red tie" (that was my cosmopolite), said he, "got hot
on account of things said about the bum sidewalks and water supply of
the place he come from by the other guy."

"Why," said I, bewildered, "that man is a citizen of the world--a
c