The chair itself was not particularly impressive. It was not
nearly so rickety and decrepit as the chairs one sees in almost
any London barber shop. Nor was my emotion particularly excited
by the stone. I would engage to get a better-looking one out of
the handiest rock quarry inside of twenty minutes. This stone
should not be confused with the ordinary scones, which also come
from Scotland and which are by some regarded as edible.
What did seem to us rather a queer thing was that the authorities
of Westminster should make capital of the dead rulers of the realm
and, except on certain days of the week, should charge an admission
fee to their sepulchers. Later, on the Continent, we sustained
an even more severe shock when we saw royal palaces--palaces that
on occasion are used by the royal proprietors--with the quarters
of the monarchs upstairs and downstairs novelty shops and tourist
agencies and restaurants, and the like of that. I jotted down
a few crisp notes concerning these matters, my intention being to
comment on them as evidence of an incomprehensible thrift on the
part of our European kins-people; but on second thought I decided
to refrain from so doing. I recalled the fact that we ourselves
are not entirely free from certain petty national economies.
Abroad we house our embassies up back streets, next door to bird
and animal stores; and at home there is many a public institution
where the doormat says WELCOME! in large letters, but the soap is
chained and the roller towel is padlocked to its little roller.
Pages:
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277