scene of indescribable loveliness; the
wild reds of hades splashed riotously upon the cold whites and pale
blues of heaven. The night train for Venice, a long line of black
coaches, is entering the town. Somewhere below, apparently in the
barracks, a sunset gun is fired. After a silence of perhaps two or three
minutes, the Americans gather fresh inspiration and resume their
conversation._

THE FIRST MAN

I have seen worse scenery.

THE SECOND MAN

Very pretty.

THE FIRST MAN

Yes, sir; it's well worth the money.

THE SECOND MAN

But the Rockies beat it all hollow.

THE FIRST MAN

Oh, of course. They have nothing over here that we can't beat to a
whisper. Just consider the Rhine, for instance. The Hudson makes it look
like a country creek.

THE SECOND MAN

Yes, you're right. Take away the castles, and not even a German would
give a hoot for it. It's not so much what a thing _is_ over here as what
_reputation_ it's got. The whole thing is a matter of press-agenting.

THE FIRST MAN

I agree with you. There's the "beautiful, blue Danube." To me it looks
like a sewer. If _it's_ blue, then _I'm_ green. A man would hesitate to
drown himself in such a mud puddle.

THE SECOND MAN

But you hear the bands playing that waltz all your life, and so you
spend your good money to come over here to see the river. And when you
get back home you don't want to admit that you've been a sucker, so you
start touting it from hell to breakfast. And then some other fellow
comes over and does the same, and so on and so on.

THE FIRST MAN

Yes, it's all a matter of boosting. Day in and day out you hear about
Westminster Abbey. Every English book mentions it; it's in the
newspapers almost as much as Jane Addams or Caruso. Well, one day you
pack your grip, put on your hat and come over to have a look--and what
do you find? A one-horse church full of statues! And every statue crying
for sapolio! You expect to see something magnificent and enormous,
something to knock your eye out and send you down for the count. What
you do see is a second-rate graveyard under roof. And when you examine
into it, you find that two-thirds of the graves haven't even got dead
men in them! Whenever a prominent Englishman dies, they put up a statue
to him in Westminster Abbey--_no matter where he happens to be buried_!
I call that clever advertising. That's the way to get the crowd.

THE SECOND MAN

Yes, these foreigners kno