“It’s one of the poorest I know, certainly the poorest I stop at. There is no life to speak of here at all. If you want to see a typical English town where there’s more life and business you want to see Canterbury or Maidenhead. No, no, you mustn’t judge England by this. I suppose you’re traveling to see things. You’re not English, I see.” “No, I’m from America. I come from New York.” “I had a strong notion before I came to London to go to America after I left school”--and to have heard him pronounce _school_ alone would have settled his identity for those who know the Scotch. “Some of my friends went there, but I decided not. I thought I’d try London instead and I’m glad I did.” “You like it?” “Oh, yes, from a money point I do. I make perhaps fifty per cent. more than I did in Scotland but I may say, too, it costs me almost fifty per cent. more to live.” He said this with a sigh. I could see Scotch thrift sticking out all over him. An interesting little man he proved, very intelligent, very cautious, very saving. You could see early religious training and keen desire to get up in the world in his every gesture. We fell into a most interesting conversation, to me, for knowing so little of England I was anxious to know more. Despite the littleness of my companion and his clerkly manner I found him entertaining. He wanted to know what I thought of England and I told him--as much as I could judge by a few days’ stay. He told me something of London life--its streets, sections and so on and asked a great many questions about America. He had the ability to listen intelligently which is a fine sign. He wanted to know particularly what traveling salesmen receive in America and how far their money goes. He was interested to know the difference between English and American railroads. By this time the meal had ended and we were toasting our toes before the fire. We were quite friendly. “It’s some little distance back to my place and I think I’ll be going,” I said. “I don’t know whether I really know how to get there, but I’ll try. I understand there is no direct railroad connection between here and there. I may not be able to find my way at night as it is.” “Well, I’ll walk with you a little way if you don’t mind,” he replied solicitously. “I have nothing else to do.” The idea of companionship soothed me. Walking around alone and standing in the market place looking at the tramping men had given me the blues. I felt particularly lonely at moments, being away from America, for the difference in standards of taste and action, the difference in modes of thought and practice, and the difference in money and the sound of human voices was growing on me. When you have lived in one country all your life and found yourself comfortable in all its ways and notions and then suddenly find yourself out of it and trying to adjust yourself to things that are different in a hundred little ways, it is rather hard.