He Himself Spoke Such Good
English That We Could Not Do Otherwise Than Declare That We Could Get On
Perfectly With An Address In French.
The German pair, perhaps from
patriotic grudge, denied a working knowledge of the unfriendly tongue.
The solitary on the back seat, being asked in his turn, graciously
answered, "Toutes les langues me sont egales," and thereafter we
suffered with the orator only through French and German.
The reply which decided the matter launched us upon yet wider conjecture
regarding the unknown: was he a retired courier, a concierge out of
place, a professor of languages on his holiday, or merely an amateur of
philological studies? His declared proficiency was manifested in
unexpected measure as we drove away from the Temple of Neptune on
through the narrow street leading to it. Every motor has its peculiar
note, and our car had something like the scream of a wild animal in
pain, such as might have justly alarmed a stouter spirit than that of
the poor little cab-horse which we encountered at the corner of this
street. It reared, it plunged; when our chauffeur held us in it still
backed and filled so dangerously that the mother and children
overflowing the cab followed the example of the driver in spilling to
the ground. Then our good international, the agent, jumped down and,
mounting to the coachman's seat, took the reins and urged the horse
forward, while its driver pulled it by the bridle. All was of no effect
till the solitary of the back seat rose in his place and shouted to the
frightened creature in choice American:
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