An International Episode | Page 6

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ribbon, who had evidently perceived them to be aliens and helpless--to
a very snug hydraulic elevator, in which they took their place with
many other persons, and which, shooting upward in its vertical socket,
presently projected them into the seventh horizontal compartment of
the edifice. Here, after brief delay, they found themselves face to face
with the friend of their friend in London. His office was composed of
several different rooms, and they waited very silently in one of them
after they had sent in their letter and their cards. The letter was not one
which it would take Mr. Westgate very long to read, but he came out to
speak to them more instantly than they could have expected; he had
evidently jumped up from his work. He was a tall, lean personage and
was dressed all in fresh white linen; he had a thin, sharp, familiar face,
with an expression that was at one and the same time sociable and
businesslike, a quick, intelligent eye, and a large brown mustache,
which concealed his mouth and made his chin, beneath it, look small.
Lord Lambeth thought he looked tremendously clever.
"How do you do, Lord Lambeth--how do you do, sir?" he said, holding
the open letter in his hand. "I'm very glad to see you; I hope you're very
well. You had better come in here; I think it's cooler," and he led the
way into another room, where there were law books and papers, and

windows wide open beneath striped awning. Just opposite one of the
windows, on a line with his eyes, Lord Lambeth observed the
weathervane of a church steeple. The uproar of the street sounded
infinitely far below, and Lord Lambeth felt very high in the air. "I say
it's cooler," pursued their host, "but everything is relative. How do you
stand the heat?"
"I can't say we like it," said Lord Lambeth; "but Beaumont likes it
better than I."
"Well, it won't last," Mr. Westgate very cheerfully declared; "nothing
unpleasant lasts over here. It was very hot when Captain Littledale was
here; he did nothing but drink sherry cobblers. He expressed some
doubt in his letter whether I will remember him-- as if I didn't
remember making six sherry cobblers for him one day in about twenty
minutes. I hope you left him well, two years having elapsed since
then."
"Oh, yes, he's all right," said Lord Lambeth.
"I am always very glad to see your countrymen," Mr. Westgate pursued.
"I thought it would be time some of you should be coming along. A
friend of mine was saying to me only a day or two ago, 'It's time for the
watermelons and the Englishmen."
"The Englishmen and the watermelons just now are about the same
thing," Percy Beaumont observed, wiping his dripping forehead.
"Ah, well, we'll put you on ice, as we do the melons. You must go
down to Newport."
"We'll go anywhere," said Lord Lambeth.
"Yes, you want to go to Newport; that's what you want to do," Mr.
Westgate affirmed. "But let's see--when did you get here?"
"Only yesterday," said Percy Beaumont.

"Ah, yes, by the Russia. Where are you staying?"
"At the Hanover, I think they call it."
"Pretty comfortable?" inquired Mr. Westgate.
"It seems a capital place, but I can't say we like the gnats," said Lord
Lambeth.
Mr. Westgate stared and laughed. "Oh, no, of course you don't like the
gnats. We shall expect you to like a good many things over here, but
we shan't insist upon your liking the gnats; though certainly you'll
admit that, as gnats, they are fine, eh? But you oughtn't to remain in the
city."
"So we think," said Lord Lambeth. "If you would kindly suggest
something--"
"Suggest something, my dear sir?" and Mr. Westgate looked at him,
narrowing his eyelids. "Open your mouth and shut your eyes! Leave it
to me, and I'll put you through. It's a matter of national pride with me
that all Englishmen should have a good time; and as I have had
considerable practice, I have learned to minister to their wants. I find
they generally want the right thing. So just please to consider
yourselves my property; and if anyone should try to appropriate you,
please to say, 'Hands off; too late for the market.' But let's see,"
continued the American, in his slow, humorous voice, with a
distinctness of utterance which appeared to his visitors to be part of a
humorous intention-- a strangely leisurely, speculative voice for a man
evidently so busy and, as they felt, so professional--"let's see; are you
going to make something of a stay, Lord Lambeth?"
"Oh, dear, no," said the young Englishman; "my cousin was coming
over on some business, so I just came across, at an hour's