I
have merely borrowed a page from the book of rules of the British
essayists and novelists who come over here to write us up. Why,
bless your soul, I gave nearly eight weeks of time to the task of
seeing Europe thoroughly, and, of those eight weeks, I spent upward
of three weeks in and about London--indeed, a most unreasonably
long time when measured by the standards of the Englishman of
letters who does a book about us.
He has his itinerary all mapped out in advance. He will squander
a whole week on us. We are scarcely worth it, but, such as we
are, we shall have a week of his company! Landing on Monday morning,
he will spend Monday in New York, Tuesday in San Francisco, and
Wednesday in New Orleans. Thursday he will divide between Boston
and Chicago, devoting the forenoon to one and the afternoon to the
other. Friday morning he will range through the Rocky Mountains,
and after luncheon, if he is not too fatigued, he will take a
carriage and pop in on Yosemite Valley for an hour or so.
But Saturday--all of it--will be given over to the Far Southland.
He is going 'way down South--to sunny South Dakota, in fact, to
see the genuine native American darkies, the real Yankee blackamoors.
Most interesting beings, the blackamoors! They live exclusively
on poultry--fowls, you know--and all their women folk are named
Honey Gal.
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