These two were desperately, pathetically homesick.
One of them blinked back the tears when he told us, with the
plaintive African quaver in his voice, how long they had been away
from their own country and how happy they would be to get back to
it again.
"We suttin'ly is glad to heah somebody talkin' de reg'lar New
'Nited States talk, same as we does," he said. "We gits mighty
tired of all dis yere French jabberin'!"
"Yas, suh," put in his partner; "dey meks a mighty fuss over cullud
folks over yere; but 'tain't noways lak home. I comes from
Bummin'ham, Alabama, myse'f. Does you gen'lemen know anybody in
Bummin'ham?"
They were the first really wholesome creatures who had crossed our
paths that night. They crowded up close to us and there they
stayed until we left, as grateful as a pair of friendly puppies
for a word or a look. Presently, though, something happened that
made us forget these small dark compatriots of ours. We had had
sandwiches all round and a bottle of wine. When the waiter brought
the check it fell haply into the hands of the one person in our
party who knew French and - what was an even more valuable
accomplishment under the present circumstances - knew the intricate
French system of computing a bill.
