him a shilling.  He said he was glad to leave England, it was demoralising to live there; you lost your sense of the dignity of labour, and in the course of time you were almost bound to degenerate into a swell.  He expressed a good deal of sympathy with the aristocracy on this account, concentrating his indignation upon those who, as it were, made aristocrats of innocent human beings against their will.  It was more than he would have ventured to say in public, but in talking to me poppa often mentions what a comfort it is to be his own mouthpiece.

“The best thing about these tourists’ tickets is,” said the Senator as we approached Paris, “that they entitle you to the use of an interpreter.  He is said to be found on all station platforms of importance, and I presume he’s standing there waiting for us now.  I take it we’re at liberty to tap his knowledge of the language in any moment of difficulty just as if it were our own.”

Ten minutes later the carriage doors were opening upon Paris, and the Senator’s eagle eye was searching the crowded platform for this official.  Our vague idea was that the interpreter would be a conspicuous and permanent object like a nickle-in-the-slot machine, automatically arranged to open his arms to tourists presenting the right tickets, and emit conversation.  When we finally detected him, by his cap, he was shifting uneasily in the midst of a crowd of inquirers.  His face was pale, his beard pointed, his expression that of a person constantly interrupted in many languages.  The crowd was parting to permit him to escape, when we filled up the available avenue and confronted him.

“Are you the linguist that goes with our tickets?” asked the Senator.

“I am ze interpretare yes, but weez ze tickets I go not, no.  All-ways I stay here in zis place, nowheres I go.”  He stood at bay, so to speak, frowning fiercely as he replied, and then made another bolt for liberty, but poppa laid a compelling hand upon his arm.

“If it’s all the same to you,” said poppa, firmly, “I’ve got ladies with me, and——­”

“Yes certainly you get presently your tronks.  You see zat door beside many people?  Immediately it open you go and show ze customs man.  You got no duty thing, it is all right.  You call one fiacre—­carriage—­and go at your hotel.”

“Oh,” exclaimed momma, “is there any charge on nerve tincture, please?  It’s entirely for my personal use.”

“It’s only on cigars and eau-de-Cologne, isn’t it?” I entreated.

“Which door did you say?” asked the Senator.  “I’d be obliged if you would speak more slowly.  There’s no cause for excitement.  From here I can see fourteen doors, and I saw our luggage go in by this door.”

“You don’t believe wat I say!  Very well!  All ze same it is zat door beside all ze people wat want zere tronks!”

“All right,” said the Senator pacifically.  “How you do boil over!  I tell you one thing, my friend,” he added, as the interpreter washed his hands of us, “you may be a necessity to the travelling public, but you’re not a luxury, in any sense of the word.”