"I understand, sir, that when you were a young man----"
"When I was WHAT?" I shouted, sitting up once more.
"I understand, sir, that when you were _quite_ a young man," repeated the interviewer, with the sentence improved, "you were an officer in the French army."
"I was," I murmured, in the same position.
"I also understand you fought during the Franco-Prussian war."
"I did," I said, resuming a horizontal position.
"May I ask you to give me some reminiscences of the Franco-Prussian war--just enough to fill about a column?"
I rose and again sat up.
"Free citizen of the great American Republic," said I, "beware, beware!
There will be blood shed in this room to-night."
And I seized my pillow.
"You are not meaty," exclaimed the reporter.
"May I inquire what the meaning of this strange expression is?" I said, frowning; "I don"t speak American fluently."
"It means," he replied, "that there is very little to be got out of you."
"Are you going?" I said, smiling.
"Well, I guess I am."
"Good-night."
"Good-night."
I bolted the door, turned out the gas, and "re-retired."
"Poor fellow," I thought; "perhaps he relied on me to supply him with material for a column. I might have chatted with him. After all, these reporters have invariably been kind to me. I might as well have obliged him. What is he going to do?"
And I dreamed that he was dismissed.
I ought to have known better.
This morning I opened the Brushville _Express_, and, to my stupefaction, saw a column about me. My impressions of Brushville, that I had no opportunity of looking at, were there. Nay, more. I would blush to record here the exploits I performed during the Franco-Prussian war, as related by my interviewer, especially those which took place at the battle of Gravelotte, where, unfortunately, I was not present. The whole thing was well written. The reference to my military services began thus: "Last night a hero of the great Franco-Prussian war slept under the hospitable roof of Morrison Hotel, in this city."
"Slept!" This was adding insult to injury.
This morning I had the visit of two more reporters.
"What do you think of Brushville?" they said; and, seeing that I would not answer the question, they volunteered information on Brushville, and talked loud on the subject. I have no doubt that the afternoon papers will publish my impressions of Brushville.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER x.x.xV.
THE UNIVERSITY OF INDIANA--INDIANAPOLIS--THE VETERANS OF THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC ON THE SPREE--A MARVELOUS EQUILIBRIST.
_Bloomington, Ind., March 13._
Lectured yesterday before the students of the University of Indiana, and visited the different buildings this morning. The university is situated on a hill in the midst of a wood, about half a mile from the little town of Bloomington.
In a few days I shall be at Ann Arbor, the University of Michigan, the largest in America, I am told. I will wait till then to jot down my impressions of university life in this country.
I read in the papers: "Prince Saunders, colored, was hanged here (Plaquemine, Fla.) yesterday. He declared he had made his peace with G.o.d, and his sins had been forgiven. Saunders murdered Rhody Walker, his sweetheart, last December, a few hours after he had witnessed the execution of Carter Wilkinson."
If Saunders has made his peace with G.o.d, I hope his executioners have made theirs with G.o.d and man. What an indictment against man! What an argument against capital punishment! Here is a man committing a murder on returning from witnessing an execution. And there are men still to be found who declare that capital punishment deters men from committing murder!
[Ill.u.s.tration: VETERANS.]
_Indianapolis, March 14._
Arrived here yesterday afternoon. Met James Whitcomb Riley, the Hoosier poet. Mr. Riley is a man of about thirty, a genuine poet, full of pathos and humor, and a great reciter. No one, I imagine, could give his poetry as he does himself. He is a born actor, who holds you in suspense, and makes you cry or laugh just as he pleases. I remember, when two years ago Mr. Augustin Daly gave a farewell supper to Mr. Henry Irving and Miss Ellen Terry at Delmonico"s, Mr. Riley recited one of his poems at table. He gave most of us a big lump in our throats, and Miss Terry had tears rolling down her cheeks.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A GREAT BALANCING FEAT.]
The veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic are having a great field day in Indianapolis. They have come here to attend meetings and ask for pensions, so as to reduce that unmanageable surplus. Indianapolis is full, and the management of Denison House does not know which way to turn. All these veterans have large, broad-brimmed soft hats and are covered all over with badges and ribbons. Their wives and daughters, members of some patriotic a.s.sociation, have come with them. It is a huge picnic. The entrance hall is crowded all day. The spittoons have been replaced by tubs for the occasion. Chewing is in favor all over America, but the State of Indiana beats, in that way, everything I have seen before.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "IN EUROPE SWAGGERING LITTLE BOYS SMOKE."]
Went to see Clara Morris in Adolphe Belot"s "Article 47," at the Opera House, last night. Clara Morris is a powerful actress, but, like most actors and actresses who go "starring" through America, badly supported.
I watched the audience with great interest. Nineteen mouths out of twenty were chewing--the men tobacco, the women gum impregnated with peppermint. All the jaws were going like those of so many ruminants grazing in a field. From the box I occupied the sight was most amusing.
On returning to Denison House from the theater, I went to have a smoke in a quiet corner of the hall, far from the crowd. By and by two men, most smartly dressed, with diamond pins in their cravats, and flowers embroidered on their waistcoats, came and sat opposite me. I thought they had chosen the place to have a quiet chat together. Not so. One pushed a cuspidore with his foot and brought it between the two chairs.
There, for half an hour, without saying one word to each other, they chewed, hawked, and spat--and had a good time before going to bed.