One day I saw a tourist. He was an American, a young man I knew in New
York. I found him going into the Houses of Parliament. I was fond of
going in there frequently, and said I would accompany him.

With an easy stride, at a speed I should say of about two miles an
hour, he walked straight through the Houses of Parliament; through the
Norman porch, through the King's robing room, the Royal or Victoria
gallery, the Prince's chamber, the sumptuously decorated House of
Peers, the Peers' lobby, the spacious central hall, the Commons'
corridor and the House of Commons; glancing about him the while at art
and architecture, lavish magnificence and the eternal garments and
symbols of history. Returning to the central hall, we passed through
St. Stephen's and Westminster Hall and arrived again in the street.

"How long did it take us to do that?" said my friend, questioning his
watch.

"Oh, about fifteen minutes," I replied.

He said he thought he would go across the way and "do" the Abbey next
while he was in the neighbourhood.

I suppose I could have helped him in the matter of despatch, but I
didn't think of it at the time. Later I heard of two Americans who
drove up to the abbey in a taxi. Leaping out, one said to the other:
"You do the outside and I'll do the inside, and that way we'll save a
lot of time."

The thing a man does in America, of course, when he gets into a
railroad train is to light a cigar and begin talking to the fellow next