The Four Million | Page 8

for the whole world and dedicated
himself to Bombay. In a poem he has to say that there is pride and
rivalry between the cities of the earth, and that "the men that breed
from them, they traffic up and down, but cling to their cities' hem as a
child to the mother's gown." And whenever they walk "by roaring
streets unknown" they remember their native city "most faithful,
foolish, fond; making her mere-breathed name their bond upon their
bond." And my glee was roused because I had caught Mr. Kipling
napping. Here I had found a man not made from dust; one who had no
narrow boasts of birthplace or country, one who, if he bragged at all,
would brag of his whole round globe against the Martians and the
inhabitants of the Moon.
Expression on these subjects was precipitated from E. Rushmore
Coglan by the third corner to our table. While Coglan was describing to
me the topography along the Siberian Railway the orchestra glided into
a medley. The concluding air was "Dixie," and as the exhilarating notes
tumbled forth they were almost overpowered by a great clapping of
hands from almost every table.
It is worth a paragraph to say that this remarkable scene can be
witnessed every evening in numerous cafes in the City of New York.
Tons of brew have been consumed over theories to account for it. Some
have conjectured hastily that all Southerners in town hie themselves to
cafes at nightfall. This applause of the "rebel" air in a Northern city
does puzzle a little; but it is not insolvable. The war with Spain, many
years' generous mint and watermelon crops, a few long-shot winners at
the New Orleans race-track, and the brilliant banquets given by the
Indiana and Kansas citizens who compose the North Carolina Society
have made the South rather a "fad" in Manhattan. Your manicure will
lisp softly that your left forefinger reminds her so much of a
gentleman's in Richmond, Va. Oh, certainly; but many a lady has to
work now--the war, you know.
When "Dixie" was being played a dark-haired young man sprang up
from somewhere with a Mosby guerrilla yell and waved frantically his

soft- brimmed hat. Then he strayed through the smoke, dropped into
the vacant chair at our table and pulled out cigarettes.
The evening was at the period when reserve is thawed. One of us
mentioned three Wurzburgers to the waiter; the dark-haired young man
acknowledged his inclusion in the order by a smile and a nod. I
hastened to ask him a question because I wanted to try out a theory I
had.
"Would you mind telling me," I began, "whether you are from--"
The fist of E. Rushmore Coglan banged the table and I was jarred into
silence.
"Excuse me," said he, "but that's a question I never like to hear asked.
What does it matter where a man is from? Is it fair to judge a man by
his post-office address? Why, I've seen Kentuckians who hated
whiskey, Virginians who weren't descended from Pocahontas,
Indianians who hadn't written a novel, Mexicans who didn't wear velvet
trousers with silver dollars sewed along the seams, funny Englishmen,
spendthrift Yankees, cold-blooded Southerners, narrow- minded
Westerners, and New Yorkers who were too busy to stop for an hour on
the street to watch a one-armed grocer's clerk do up cranberries in
paper bags. Let a man be a man and don't handicap him with the label
of any section."
"Pardon me," I said, "but my curiosity was not altogether an idle one. I
know the South, and when the band plays 'Dixie' I like to observe. I
have formed the belief that the man who applauds that air with special
violence and ostensible sectional loyalty is invariably a native of either
Secaucus, N.J., or the district between Murray Hill Lyceum and the
Harlem River, this city. I was about to put my opinion to the test by
inquiring of this gentleman when you interrupted with your own--larger
theory, I must confess."
And now the dark-haired young man spoke to me, and it became
evident that his mind also moved along its own set of grooves.

"I should like to be a periwinkle," said he, mysteriously, "on the top of
a valley, and sing tooralloo-ralloo."
This was clearly too obscure, so I turned again to Coglan.
"I've been around the world twelve times," said he. "I know an
Esquimau in Upernavik who sends to Cincinnati for his neckties, and I
saw a goatherder in Uruguay who won a prize in a Battle Creek
breakfast food puzzle competition. I pay rent on a room in Cairo, Egypt,
and another in Yokohama all the year around. I've got slippers waiting
for me in a tea-house in Shanghai, and I don't