we met poppa on the germanic gangway, his hat on the back of his head and one finger in each of his waistcoat pockets, an attitude which, with him, always betokens concern. the vessel was at that stage of departure when the people who have been turned off are feeling injured that it should have been done so soon, and apparently only the weight of poppa's personality on its new york end kept the gangway out. as we drove up he appeared to lift his little finger and three dishevelled navigators darted upon the cab. they and we and our trunks swept up the gangway together, which immediately closed behind us, under the direction of an extremely irritated looking chief officer. we reunited as a family as well as we could in connection with uncoiled ropes and ship discipline. then poppa, with his watch in his hand, exclaimed reproachfully, well in hearing of the chief officer, "i gave you ten minutes and you had ten minutes. you stopped at huyler's for candy, i'll lay my last depreciated dollar on it."
my other parent looked guiltily at some oblong boxes tied up in white paper with narrow red ribbon, which, innocently enough i consider, enhance the value of life to us both. but she ignored the charge—momma hates arguments.
"dear me!" she said, as the space widened between us and the docks. "so we are all going to europe together this morning! i can hardly realise it. farewell america! how interesting life is."
"yes," replied poppa. "and now i guess i'd better show you your cabins before it gets any more interesting."
we had a calm evening, though nothing would induce momma to think so, and at ten o'clock senator j.p. wick and i were still pacing the deck talking business. the moon rose, and threw arthur's shadow across our conversation, but we looked at it with precision and it moved away. that is one of poppa's most comforting characteristics, he would as soon open his bosom to a shot-gun as to a confidence. he asked for details through the telephone merely for bravado. as a matter of fact, if i had begun to send them he would have rung off the connection and said it was an accident. we dipped into politics, and i told the senator that while i considered his speech on the silver compromise a credit to the family on the whole, i thought he had let himself out somewhat unnecessarily at the expense of the british nation.
"we are always twisting a tail," i said reproachfully, "that does nothing but wag at us."
this poppa reluctantly admitted with the usual reference to the irish vote. we both hoped sincerely that any english friends who saw that speech, and paused to realise that the orator was a parent of mine, would consider the number of irish resident in illinois, and the amount of invective which their feelings require. poppa doesn't really know sometimes whether he is himself or a shillelagh, but whatever his temporary political capacity he is never ungrateful. he went on to give me the particulars of his interview with the president about the chicago post office, and then i gradually unfolded my intention of preparing our foreign experiences as a family for publication in book form. while i was unfolding it poppa eyed me askance.
"is that usual?" he inquired.
"very usual indeed," i replied.
"i mean—under the circumstances?"
"under what circumstances?" i demanded boldly. i knew that nothing would induce him to specify them.
"oh, i only meant—it wasn't exactly my idea."
"what was your idea—exactly?" it was mean of me to put poppa to the blush, but i had to define the situation.
"oh," said he, with unlooked-for heroism, "i was basing my calculations with reference to you on the distractions of change—paris dry-goods, rowing round venice in gondolas, riding through the st. gothard tunnel, and the healing hand of time. i don't intend to give a day less than six weeks to it. i'm looking forward to the tranquilising effect of the antique some myself," he added, hedging. "i find these new self-risers that we've undertaken to carry almost more than my temperament can stand. they went up from an output of five hundred dollars to six hundred and fifty thousand, and back again inside seven days last month. i'm looking forward to examining something that hasn't moved for a couple of thousand years with considerable pleasure."
"poppa," said i, ignoring the self-risers, "if you were as particular about the quality of your fiction as you are about the quality of your table-butter, you would know that the best heroines never have recourse to such measures now. they are simply obsolete. except for my literary intention, i should be ashamed to go to europe at all—under the circumstances. but that, you see, brings the situation up to date. i transmit my european impressions through the prism of damaged affection. nothing could be more modern."
"i see," replied poppa, rubbing his chin searchingly, which is his manner of expressing sagacious doubt. his beard descends from the lower part of his chin in the long unfettered american manner, without which it is impossible for punch to indicate a citizen of the united states. when he positively disapproves he pulls it severely.
"but europe's been done before, you know," he continued. "in fact, i don't know any continent more popular than europe with people that want to publish books of travel. it's been done before."
"never," i rejoined, "in connection with you, poppa!"
poppa removed his hand from his chin.
"oh, if i'm to assist, that's quite another anecdote," he said briskly. "i didn't understand you intended to ring me in. of course, i don't mean to imply there is any special prejudice against books of travel in europe. about how many pages did you think of running it to?"
"my idea was three hundred," i replied.
"and how many words to a page?"
"two hundred and fifty—more or less."
"that's seventy-five thousand words! pretty big undertaking, if you look at it in bulk."
"we shall have to rely upon momma," i remarked.
poppa's expression disparaged the idea, and he began to feel round for his beard.
"if i were you," he said, "i wouldn't place much dependence on momma. she'll be able to give you a few hints on sunsets and a pointer or two about the various venuses, likely—she's had photographs of several of them in the house for years—but i expect it's going to be a question of historical fact pretty often, and momma won't be in it. not that i want to choke momma off," he continued, "but she will necessitate a whole reference library. and in some parts of europe i believe they charge you for every pound of luggage, including your lunch, if you don't happen to have concealed it in your person."
"we'll have to pin her down to the guide-books," i remarked.
"that depends. i've always understood that the guide-book market was largely controlled by mr. murray and mr. baedeker. also, that mr. murray writes in a vein of pretty lofty sentiment, while mr. baedeker is about as interesting as a directory. now where the right emotion is included at the price i don't see the use of momma, but when it's a question of baedeker we might turn her on. see?"
"poppa," i replied with emotion, "you will both be invaluable. i will bid you good-night. i believe the electric light burns all night long in the smoking-cabin, but that is not supposed to indicate that gentlemen are expected to stay there till dawn. i see you have two havanas left. that will be quite enough for one evening. good-night, poppa."
