§ 142 His Worst Fears Confirmed
An elderly English actor came over to take his first American engagement. He had never visited the country before but he had strong—not to say fixed—prejudices touching on the United States, as compared with the British Isles.
The voyage across was a rough one and the visitor’s disposition did not sweeten by reason of it. On landing he started for an English boarding house uptown, where he had been told he could get English food uncontaminated by base Yankee notions. To keep down expenses he elected to repair thither by a street car instead of using a cab.
He emerged from the pier laden with his hatbox, his umbrella, his make-up tin, his grips—two in number—his steamer rug, his tea caddy, his overcoat, his framed picture of the Death of Nelson, and other prized personal belongings, and climbed aboard a car.
Just as he got fairly upon the platform the car started and he fell through the open door into the aisle, scattering his goods and chattels in every direction. As he got upon his knees he remarked in a tone of conviction:
“There now! I knew I shouldn’t like the blarsted country!”