I cannot imagine anything more interesting than being introduced as I was by Barfleur to the social character of London. He was so intelligent and so very nice about it all. “Now, first,” he said, “we will get your glasses mended; and then you want a traveling bag; and then some ties and socks, and so on. I have an appointment with you at your tailor’s at eleven o’clock, where you are to be measured for your waistcoats, and at eleven-thirty at your furrier’s, where you are to be measured for your fur coat,” and so on and so forth. “Well, come along. We’ll be off.” I have to smile when I think of it, for I, of all people, am the least given to this matter of proper dressing and self-presentation, and Barfleur, within reasonable limits, represents the other extreme. To him, as I have said, these things are exceedingly important. The delicate manner in which he indicated and urged me into getting the things which would be all right, without openly insisting on them, was most pleasing. “In England, you know,” he would hint, “it isn’t quite good form to wear a heavy striped tie with a frock coat--never a straight black; and we never tie them in that fashion--always a simple knot.” My socks had to be striped for morning wear and my collars winged, else I was in very bad form indeed. I fell into the habit of asking, “What now?” London streets and shops as I first saw them interested me greatly. I saw at once more uniforms than one would ordinarily see in New York, and more high hats and, presumably,--I could not tell for the overcoats--cutaway coats. The uniforms were of mail-men, porters, messenger-boys and soldiers; and all being different from what I had been accustomed to, they interested me--the mail-men particularly, with a service helmet cut square off at the top; and the little messenger boys, with their tambourine caps cocked joyously over one ear, amused me; the policeman’s helmet strap under his chin was new and diverting. In the stores the clerks first attracted my attention, but I may say the stores and shops themselves, after New York, seemed small and old. New York is so new; the space given to the more important shops is so considerable. In London it struck me that the space was not much and that the woodwork and walls were dingy. One can tell by the feel of a place whether it is exceptional and profitable, and all of these were that; but they were dingy. The English clerk, too, had an air of civility, I had almost said servility, which was different. They looked to me like individuals born to a condition and a point of view; and I think they are. In America any clerk may subsequently be anything he chooses (ability guaranteed), but I’m not so sure that this is true in England. Anyhow, the American clerk always looks his possibilities--his problematic future; the English clerk looks as if he were to be one indefinitely.