American, upon sitting down alone in this company, felt what I suppose
that many of us feel in like circumstances: he wished there were somebody
there who knew him and could nod to him. Nevertheless, he was spoken to,
asked questions about various of his fellow countrymen, and made at home.
Presently, however, an elderly member who had been silent and whom I will
designate as being of the Dr. Samuel Johnson type, said: "You seem to be
having trouble in your packing houses over in America? "

We were.

"Very disgraceful, those exposures."

They were. It was May, 1906.

"Your Government seems to be doing something about it. It's certainly
scandalous. Such abuses should never have been possible in the first
place. It oughtn't to require your Government to stop it. It shouldn't
have started."

"I fancy the facts aren't quite so bad as that sensational novel about
Chicago makes them out," said the American. "At least I have been told
so."

"It all sounds characteristic to me," said the Sam Johnson. "It's quite
the sort of thing one expects to hear from the States."

"It is characteristic," said the American. "In spite of all the years
that the sea has separated us, we're still inveterately like you, a
bullying, dishonest lot--though we've had nothing quite so bad yet as
your opium trade with China."