wholesomely. One thing which greatly contributed to my enjoyment was
the fact that I was an American. Americans are immensely popular in
Paris; and this is not due solely to the fact that they spend lots of
money there, for they spend just as much or more in London, and in
the latter city they are merely tolerated because they do spend. The
Londoner seems to think that Americans are people whose only claim to
be classed as civilized is that they have money, and the regrettable
thing about that is that the money is not English. But the French
are more logical and freer from prejudices than the British; so the
difference of attitude is easily explained. Only once in Paris did I
have cause to blush for my American citizenship. I had become quite
friendly with a young man from Luxemburg whom I had met at the big
café. He was a stolid, slow-witted fellow, but, as we say, with a
heart of gold. He and I grew attached to each other and were together
frequently. He was a great admirer of the United States and never grew
tired of talking to me about the country and asking for information.
It was his intention to try his fortune there some day. One night
he asked me in a tone of voice which indicated that he expected an
authoritative denial of an ugly rumor: "Did they really burn a man
alive in the United States?" I never knew what I stammered out to him
as an answer. I should have felt relieved if I could even have said to
him: "Well, only one."

When we arrived in London, my sadness at leaving Paris was turned into
despair. After my long stay in the French capital, huge, ponderous,
massive London seemed to me as ugly a thing as man could contrive to
make. I thought of Paris as a beauty spot on the face of the earth,
and of London as a big freckle. But soon London's massiveness, I might
say its very ugliness, began to impress me. I began to experience that
sense of grandeur which one feels when he looks at a great mountain or