All the way across momma implored me to become reconciled to Arthur. In extreme moments, when it was very choppy, she composed telegrams on lines which were to drive him wild with contrition without compromising my dignity; and when I suggested the difficulty of tampering with the Atlantic cable in mid-ocean without a diving machine, she wept, hinting that, if I were a true daughter of hers, things would never have come to such a pass. My position, from a filial point of view, was most trying. I could not deny my responsibility for momma\'s woes—she never left her cabin—yet I was powerless to put an end to them. Young women in novels have thrown themselves into the arms of the wrong man under far less parental pressure, but although it was indeed the hour the man was not available. Neither, such was the irony of circumstances, would our immediate union have affected the motion in the slightest degree. But although I presented these considerations to momma many times a day, she adhered so persistently to the idea of promoting a happy reunion that I was obliged to keep a very careful eye on the possibility of surreptitious messages from Liverpool. Once on dry land, however, momma saw her duty in another light. I might say that she swallowed her principles with the first meal she really enjoyed, after which she expressed her conviction that it was best to let the dead past bury its dead, so long as the obsequies did not necessitate her immediate return to America.

I was looking forward immensely to observing the Senator in London, remembering the effect it had upon my own imagination, but on our arrival he conducted himself in a manner which can only be described as non-committal. He went about with his hands in his pockets, smoking large cigars with an air of reserved criticism that vastly impressed the waiters, acquiescing in strawberry jam for breakfast, for example, in a manner which said that, although this might be to him a new and complex custom, he was acquainted with Chicago ones much more recondite. His air was superior, but modestly so, and if he said nothing you would never suppose it was because he had nothing to say. He meant to give Great Britain a chance before he pronounced anything distinctly unfavourable even to her steaks, and in the meantime to remember what an up-to-date American owes to his country\'s reputation in the hotels of a foreign town.

He was very much at his ease, and I saw him looking at a couple of just introduced Englishmen embarking in conversation, as if he wondered what could possibly be the matter with them. I am sorry that I can\'t say as much for my other parent, but before monarchical institutions momma weakened. She had moments of terrible indecision as to how to do her hair, and I am certain it was not a matter of indifference to her that she should make a good impression upon the head butler. Also, she hesitated about examining the mounted Guardsman on duty at Whitehall, preferring to walk past with a casual glance, as if she were accustomed to see things quite as wonderful every day at home, whereas nothing to approach it has ever existed in America, except in the imagination of Mr. Barnum, and he is dead. And shopwalkers patronised her. I congratulated myself sometimes that I was there to assert her dignity.

I must be permitted to generalise in this way about our London experiences because they only lasted a day and a half, and it is impossible to get many particulars into that space. It was really a pity we had so little time. Nothing would have been more interesting than to bring momma into contact with the Poets\' Corner, or introduce poppa to the House of Lords, and watch the effect. I am sure, from what I know of my parents, that the effect would have been crisp. But we decided that six weeks was not too much to give to the Continent, also that an opportunity, six weeks long, of absorbing Europe is not likely to occur twice in the average American lifetime. We stayed over two or three trains in London, however, just long enough to get in a background, as it were, for our Continental experiences. The weather was typical, and the background, from an artistic point of view, was perfect. While not precisely opaque, you couldn\'t see through it anywhere.

When it became a question of how we were to put in the time, it seemed to momma as if she would rather lie down than anything.

"You and your father, dear," she said, "might drive to St. Paul\'s, when it stops raining. Have a good look at the dome and try to bring me back the sound of the echo. It is said to be very weird. See that poppa doesn\'t forget to take off his hat in the body of the church, but he might put it on in the Whispering Gallery, where it is sure to be draughty. And remember that the funeral coach of the Duke of Wellington is down in the crypt, darling. You might bring me an impression of that. I think I\'ll have a cup of chocolate and try to get a little sleep."

"Is it," asked poppa, "the coach which the Duke sent to represent him at the other people\'s funerals, or the one in which he attended his own?"

"You can look that up," momma replied; "but my belief is that it was presented to the Duke by a grateful nation after his demise. In which case he couldn\'t possibly have used it more than once."

I looked at momma reprovingly, but, seeing that she had no suspicion of being humorous, I said nothing. The Senator pushed out his under lip and pulled his beard.

"I don\'t know about St. Paul\'s," he said; "wouldn\'t any other impression do as well, momma? It doesn\'t seem to be just the weather for crypts, and I don\'t suppose the hearse of a military man is going to make the surroundings any more cheerful. Now, my idea is that when time is limited you\'ve got to let some things go. I\'d let the historical go every time. I\'d let the instructive go—we can\'t drag around an idea of the British Museum, for instance. I\'d let ancient associations go—unless you\'re particularly interested in the parties associated."

I thought of the morning I once spent picking up details, traditions, and remains of Dr. Johnson in various parts of the West Central district, and privately sympathised with this view, though I felt compelled to look severe. Momma, who was now lying down, dissented. What, then, she demanded, had we crossed the ocean for?

"Rather," said she, "where time is limited let us spread ourselves, so to speak, over the area of culture available. This morning, for example, you, husband, might ramble round the Tower and try to picture the various tragedies that have been enacted there. You, daughter, might go and bring us those impressions from St. Paul\'s, while I will content myself with observing the manners of the British chambermaid. So far, I must say, I think they are lovely. Thus, each doing what he can and she can, we shall take back with us, as a family, more real benefit than we could possibly obtain if we all derived it from the same source."

"No," said poppa firmly. "I take exception to your theory right there, Augusta. Culture is a very harmless thing, and there\'s no reason why you shouldn\'t take it in, till your back gives out, every day we\'re here. But I consider that we\'ve got the article in very good shape in our little town over there in Illinois, and personally I don\'t propose to go nosing round after it in Europe. And as a family man I should hate to be divided up for any such purpose."

"Oh, if you\'re going to steel yourself against it, my love——"

"Now, what Bramley said to me the day before we sailed was this—No, I\'m not steeling myself against it; my every pore is open to it—Bramley said: \'Your time is limited, you can\'t see everything. Very well. See the unique. Keep that in mind,\' he said; \'the unique. And you\'ll be surprised to find how very little there is in the world, outside Chicago, that is unique.\'"

"Applying that rule," continued the Senator, strolling up and down, "the things to see in London are the Crystal Palace and the Albert Memorial. Especially the Albert Memorial. That was a man who played second fiddle to his wife, and enjoyed it, all his life long; and there he sits in Hyde Park to-day, I understand, still receiving the respectful homage of the nation—the only case on record."

"Westminster Abbey would be much better for you," said momma.

"Don\'t you think," I put in, "that if momma is to get any sleep——"

"Certainly. Now, another thing that Bramley said was, \'Look here,\' he said, \'remember the Unattainable Elsewhere—and get it. You\'re likely to be in London. Now the Unattainable Elsewhere, for that town, is gentlemen\'s suitings. For style, price, and quality of goods the London tailor leads the known universe. Wick,\' he said—he was terribly in earnest—\'if you have one hour in London, leave your measure!\'"

"In that case," said momma, sitting up and ascertaining the condition of her hair, "you would like me to be with you, love."

Now, if momma doesn\'t like poppa\'s clothes, she always gives them away without telling him. This would be thought arbitrary in England, and I have certainly known the Senator suddenly reduced to great destitution through it, but America is a free country, and there is no law to compel us to see our male relations unbecomingly clad against our will.

"Well, to tell the truth, Augusta," said poppa, "I would. I\'d like to get this measure through by a unanimous vote. It will save complications afterwards. But are you sure you wouldn\'t rather lie down?"

Momma replied to the effect that she wouldn\'t mind his going anywhere else alone, but this was important. She put her gloves on as she spoke, and her manner expressed that she was equal to any personal sacrifice for the end in view.

Colonel Bramley had given the Senator a sartorial address of repute, and presently the hansom drew up before it, in Piccadilly. We went about as a family in one hansom for sociability.

"Look here, driver," said poppa through the roof, "have we got there?"

The cabman, in a dramatic and resentful manner, pointed out the number with his whip.

"There\'s the address as was given to me, sir."

"Well, there\'s nothing to get mad about," said poppa sternly. "I\'m looking for Marcus Trippit, tailor and outfitter."

"It\'s all right, sir. All on the brass plite on the door, sir. I can see it puffickly from \'ere."

The cabman seemed appeased, but his tone was still remonstrative.

We all looked at the door with the brass plate. It was flanked on one side by the offices of a house agent, on the other by a superior looking restaurant.

"There isn\'t the sign of a tailor about the premises," said poppa, "except his name. I don\'t like the look of that."

"Perhaps," suggested momma, "it\'s his private address."

"Well, I guess we don\'t want to call on Marcus, especially as we\'ve got no proper introduction. Driver, that isn\'t Mr. Trippit\'s place of business. It\'s his home."

We all craned up at the hole in the roof at once, like young birds, and we all distinctly saw the driver smile.

"No, sir, I don\'t think \'e\'d put it up like that that \'e was a tyler, not on \'is privit residence, sir. I think you\'ll find the business premises on the fust or second floor, likely."

"Where\'s his window?" the Senator demanded. "Where\'s his display? No, I don\'t think Marcus will do for me. I\'m not confiding enough. Now, you don\'t happen to be able to recommend a tailor, do you?"

"Yes, sir, I can take you to a gentleman that\'ll turn you out as \'andsome as need be. Out \'Ampstead way, \'e is."

The Senator smiled. "About a three-and-sixpenny fare, eh?" he said.

"Yes, sir, all of that."

"I thought so. I don\'t mind the three and sixpence. You can\'t do much driving where I come from under a dollar; but we\'ve only got about twenty-four hours for the British capital altogether, and I can\'t spare the time."

"Suppose he drives along slowly," suggested momma.

"Just so. Drive along slowly until you come to a tailor that has a shop, do you see? And a good-sized window, with waxwork figures in it to show off the goods. Then let me hear from you again."

The man\'s expression changed to one of cheerfulness and benignity. "Right you are, sir," he said, and shut down the door in a manner that suggested entire appreciation of the circumstances.

"I think we can trust him," said poppa. Inside, therefore, we gave ourselves up to enjoyment of what momma called the varied panorama around us; while, outside, the cabman passed in critical review half the gentleman\'s outfitters in London. It was momma who finally brought him to a halt, and the establishment which inspired her with confidence and emulation was inscribed in neat, white enamelled letters, Court Tailors.

As we entered, a person of serious appearance came forward from the rear, by no means eagerly or inquiringly, but with a grave step and a great deal of deportment. I fancy he looked at momma and me with slight surprise; then, with his hands calmly folded and his head a little on one side, he gave his attention to the Senator. But it was momma who broke the silence.

"We wish," said momma, "to look at gentlemen\'s suitings."

"Yes, madam, certainly. Is it for—for——." He hesitated in the embarrassed way only affected in the very best class of establishments, and I felt at ease at once as to the probable result.

"For this gentleman," said momma, with a wave of her hand.

The Senator, being indicated, acknowledged it. "Yes," he said, "I\'m your subject. But there\'s just one thing I want to say. I haven\'t got any use for a Court suit, because where I live we haven\'t got any use for Courts. My idea would be something aristocratic in quality but democratic in cut—the sort of thing you would make up for a member of Mr. Gladstone\'s family. Do I make myself clear?"

"Certainly, sir. Ordinary morning dress, sir, or is it evening dress, or both? Will you kindly step this way, sir?"

"We will all step this way," said momma.

"It would be a morning coat and waistcoat then, sir, would it not? And trousers of a different—somewhat lighter——"

"Well, no," the Senator replied. "Something I could wear around pretty much all day."

My calm regard forbade the gentleman\'s outfitter to smile, even in the back of his head.

"I think I understand, sir. Now, here is something that is being a good deal worn just now. Beautiful finish."

"Nothing brownish, thank you," said momma, with decision.

"No, madam? Then perhaps you would prefer this, sir. More on the iron gray, sir."

"That would certainly be more becoming," said momma. "And I like that invisible line. But it\'s rather too woolly. I\'m afraid it wouldn\'t keep its appearance. What do you think, Mamie?"

"Oh, there\'s no woolliness, madam." The gentleman\'s outfitter\'s tone implied that wool was the last thing he would care to have anything to do with. "It\'s the nap. And as to the appearance of these goods"—he smiled slightly—"well, we put our reputation on them, that\'s all. I can\'t say more than that. But I have the same thing in a smooth finish, if you would prefer it."

"I think I would prefer it. Wouldn\'t you, Mamie?"

The man brought the same thing in a smooth finish, and looked interrogatively at poppa.

"Oh, I prefer it, too," said he, with a profound assumption of intelligent interest. "Were you thinking of having the pants made of the same material, Augusta?"

The gentleman\'s outfitter suddenly turned his back, and stood thus for an instant struggling with something like a spasm. Knowing that if there\'s one thing in the world momma hates it\'s the exhibition of poppa\'s sense of humour, I walked to the door. When I came back they were measuring the Senator.

"Will you have the American shoulder, sir? Most of our customers prefer it."

"Well, no. The English shoulder would be more of a novelty on me. You see I come from the United States myself."

"Do you indeed, sir?"

The manners of some tailors might be emulated in England.

"Tails are a little longer than they were, sir, and waistcoats cut a trifle higher. Not more than half an inch in both cases, sir, but it does make a difference. Now, with reference to the coat, sir; will you have it finished with braid or not? Silk braid, of course, sir."

"Augusta?" demanded the Senator.

"Is braid de nouveau?" asked momma.

"Not precisely, madam, but the Prince certainly has worn it this season while he didn\'t last."

"Do you refer to Wales?" asked poppa.

"Yes, sir. He\'s very generally mentioned simply as \'The Prince.\' His Royal Highness is very conservative, so to speak, about such things, so when he takes up a style we generally count on its lasting at least through one season. I can assure you, sir, the Prince has appeared in braid. You needn\'t be afraid to order it."

"I think," put in momma, "that braid would make a very neat finish, love."

Poppa walked slowly towards the door, considering the matter. With his hand on the knob he turned round.

"No," he said, "I don\'t think that\'s reason enough for me. We\'re both men in public positions, but I\'ve got nothing in common with Wales. I\'ll have a plain hem."