Poppa and I were often personal in our intercourse. I had not the
slightest hesitation in mentioning his American accent.

"_Hello, Mamie! Don't mention it. What's up? House on fire? Water pipes
burst? Strike in the kitchen? Sound the alarm--send for the
plumber--raise Gladys's wages and sack Marguerite_."

"My engagement to Mr. Page is broken. Do you get me? What do you
suggest?"

I heard a whistle, which I cannot express in italics, and then,
confidentially:

"_You don't say so! Bad break?_"

"Very," I responded firmly.

"_Any details of the disaster available? What?_"

"Not at present," I replied, for it would have been difficult to send
them by telephone.

I could hear poppa considering the matter at the other end. He coughed
once or twice and made some indistinct inquiries of the hotel clerk.
Then he called my attention again.

"_Hello!_" he said. "_On to me? All right. Go abroad. Always done.
Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome, and the other places. I'll stand in.
Germanic sails Wednesdays. Start by night train to-morrow. Bring momma.
We can get Germanic in good shape and ten minutes to spare. Right?_"