Probably
They Will Become Like The Rest Of The World, And Furnish No Material
For The Kindly Persiflage Of The Traveler.
Regretting that we could see no more of St. John, that we could
scarcely see our way through its dimly lighted streets, we found the
ferry to Carleton, and a sleeping-car for Bangor.
It was in the
heart of the negro porter to cause us alarm by the intelligence that
the customs officer would, search our baggage during the night. A
search is a blow to one's self-respect, especially if one has
anything dutiable. But as the porter might be an agent of our
government in disguise, we preserved an appearance of philosophical
indifference in his presence. It takes a sharp observer to tell
innocence from assurance. During the night, awaking, I saw a great
light. A man, crawling along the aisle of the car, and poking under
the seats, had found my traveling-bag and was "going through" it.
I felt a thrill of pride as I recognized in this crouching figure an
officer of our government, and knew that I was in my native land.
End of Baddeck and That Sort of Thing by Charles Dudley Warner
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