But the houses were so
very much like one another. Before one of them, she noted, a taxi
waited.
After dinner her father pleaded for a music-hall as against what he
called "some highfaluting, teacup English play." He won. Late that
night, as they rode back to the Carlton, special editions were being
proclaimed in the streets. Germany was mobilizing!
The girl from Texas retired, wondering what epistolary surprise the
morning would bring forth. It brought forth this:
DEAR DAUGHTER OF THE SENATE: Or is it Congress? I could not quite
decide. But surely in one or the other of those August bodies your
father sits when he is not at home in Texas or viewing Europe
through his daughter's eyes. One look at him and I had gathered
that.
But Washington is far from London, isn't it? And it is London that
interests us most--though father's constituents must not know that.
It is really a wonderful, an astounding city, once you have got the
feel of the tourist out of your soul. I have been reading the most
enthralling essays on it, written by a newspaper man who first fell
desperately in love with it at seven--an age when the whole
glittering town was symbolized for him by the fried-fish shop at the
corner of the High Street. With him I have been going through its
gray and furtive thoroughfares in the dead of night, and sometimes
we have kicked an ash-barrel and sometimes a romance.
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