A Frenchman in America Part 5

Presently there was a laugh, then two, then laughter more general. All the ice was gone. Next, a bold spirit in the stalls ventured some applause. At his second outburst he had company. The uphill work was nearly over now, and I began to feel better. The infection spread up to the circles and the gallery, and at last there came a real good hearty round of applause. I had "fetched" them after all. But it was tough work. When once I had them in hand, I took good care not to let them go.

I visited several interesting establishments this morning. Merry Meriden is famous for its manufactories of electro-plated silverware.

Unfortunately I am not yet accustomed to the heated rooms of America, and I could not stay in the show-rooms more than a few minutes. I should have thought the heat was strong enough to melt all the goods on view.

This town looks like a bee-hive of activity, with its animated streets, its electric cars. Dear old Europe! With the exception of a few large cities, the cars are still drawn by horses, like in the time of Sesostris and Nebuchadnezzar.

On arriving at the station a man took hold of my bag and asked to take care of it until the arrival of the train. I do not know whether he belonged to the hotel where I spent the night, or to the railroad company. Whatever he was, I felt grateful for this wonderful show of courtesy.

"I heard you last night at the Opera House," he said to me.

"Why, were you at the lecture?"

"Yes, sir, and I greatly enjoyed it."

"Well, why didn't you laugh sooner?" I said.

"I wanted to very much!"

"Why didn't you?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I WAS AT YOUR LECTURE LAST NIGHT."]

"Well, sir, I couldn't very well laugh before the rest."

"Why didn't you give the signal?"

"You see, sir," he said, "we are in Connecticut."

"Is laughter prohibited by the Statute Book in Connecticut?" I remarked.

"No, sir, but if you all laugh at the same time, then----"

"I see, n.o.body can tell who is the real criminal."

The train arrived. I shook hands with my friend, after offering him half a dollar for holding my bag--which he refused--and went on board.

In the parlor car, I met my kind friend Colonel Charles H. Taylor, editor of that very successful paper, the Boston _Globe_. We had luncheon together in the dining car, and time pa.s.sed delightfully in his company till we reached the Grand Central station, New York, when we parted. He was kind enough to make me promise to look him up in Boston in a fortnight's time, when I make my second appearance in the City of Culture.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER VII.

A TEMPTING OFFER--THE THURSDAY CLUB--BILL NYE--VISIT TO YOUNG LADIES'

SCHOOLS--THE PLAYERS' CLUB.

_New York, January 9._

On returning here, I found a most curious letter awaiting me. I must tell you that in Boston, last Monday, I made the following remarks in my lecture:

"The American is, I believe, on the road to the possession of all that can contribute to the well-being and success of a nation, but he seems to me to have missed the path that leads to real happiness. To live in a whirl is not to live well. The little French shopkeeper who locks his shop-door from half-past one, so as not to be disturbed while he is having his dinner with his wife and family, has come nearer to solving the great problem of life, 'How to be happy,' than the American who sticks on his door: 'Gone to dinner, shall be back in five minutes.' You eat too fast, and I understand why your antidyspeptic pill-makers cover your walls, your forests even, with their advertis.e.m.e.nts."

And I named the firm of pill-makers.

The letter is from them. They offer me $1000 if I will repeat the phrase at every lecture I give during my tour in the United States.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WHERE INDIGESTION IS MANUFACTURED.]

You may imagine if I will be careful to abstain in the future.

I lectured to-night before the members of the Thursday Club--a small, but very select audience, gathered in the drawing-room of one of the members. The lecture was followed by a _conversazione_. A very pleasant evening.

I left the house at half-past eleven. The night was beautiful. I walked to the hotel, along Fifth Avenue to Madison Square, and along Broadway to Union Square.

What a contrast to the great thoroughfares of London! Thousands of people here returning from the theaters and enjoying their walks, instead of being obliged to rush into vehicles to escape the sights presented at night by the West End streets of London. Here you can walk at night with your wife and daughter, without the least fear of their coming into contact with flaunting vice.

Excuse a reflection on a subject of a very domestic character. My clothes have come from the laundress with the bill.

Now let me give you a sound piece of advice.

When you go to America, bring with you a dozen shirts. No more. When these are soiled, buy a new dozen, and so on. You will thus get a supply of linen for many years to come, and save your washing bills in America, where the price of a shirt is much the same as the cost of washing it.

_January 10._

I was glad to see Bill Nye again. He turned up at the Everett House this morning. I like to gaze at his clean-shaven face, that is seldom broken by a smile, and to hear his long, melancholy drawl. His lank form, and his polished dome of thought, as he delights in calling his joke box, help to make him so droll on the platform. When his audience begins to scream with laughter, he stops, looks at them in astonishment; the corners of his mouth drop and an expression of sadness comes over his face. The effect is irresistible. They shriek for mercy. But they don't get it. He is accompanied by his own manager, who starts with him for the north to-night. This manager has no sinecure. I don't think Bill Nye has ever been found in a depot ready to catch a train. So the manager takes him to the station, puts him in the right car, gets him out of his sleeping berth, takes him to the hotel, sees that he is behind the platform a few minutes before the time announced for the beginning of the lecture, and generally looks after his comfort. Bill is due in Ohio to-morrow night, and leaves New York to-night by the Grand Central Depot.

"Are you sure it's by the Grand Central?" he said to me.

"Why, of course, corner of Forty-second Street, a five or ten minutes'

ride from here."

You should have seen the expression on his face, as he drawled away:

"How--shall--I--get--there, I--wonder?"