“That’s a good start! I was _sure_ that that phrase would catch you. I know one thing, now, all right. I know----” “What do you know?” “That you are not an American. And you aren’t, _are_ you?” “No. You are right. I’m not--honor bright, as you say.” She looked immensely pleased with herself, and said: “I reckon I’m not always smart, but _that_ was smart, anyway. But not so _very_, after all, because I already knew--believed I knew--that you were a foreigner, by another sign.” “What was that?” “Your accent.” She was an accurate observer; I do speak English with a heavenly accent, and she had detected the foreign twang in it. She ran charmingly on, most naïvely and engagingly pleased with her triumph: “The minute you said, ‘See ’ow near you can come to it,’ I said to myself, ‘Two to one he is a foreigner, and ten to one he’s English.’ Now that _is_ your nationality, _isn’t_ it?” I was sorry to spoil her victory, but I had to do it: “Ah--you’ll have to guess again.” “What--you are not an Englishman?” “No--honor bright.” She looked me searchingly over, evidently communing with herself--adding up my points, then she said: “Well, you don’t _look_ like an Englishman, and that is true.” After a little she added, “The fact is, you don’t look like _any_ foreigner--not quite like ... like _anybody_ I’ve seen before. I will guess some more.” She guessed every country whose name she could think of and grew gradually discouraged. Finally she said: “You must be the Man Without a Country--the one the story tells about. You don’t seem to have any nationality at all. How did you come to come to America? Have you any kinfolks here?” “Yes--several.” “Oh, then you came to see _them_.” “Partly--yes.” She sat awhile, thinking, then: “Well, I’m not going to give up quite yet. Where do you live when you are at home--in a city, or in the country?” “Which do you think?” “Well, I don’t quite know. You _do_ look a little countrified, if you don’t mind my saying it; but you look a little citified, too--not much, but a little, although you can’t read, which is very curious, and you are not used to newspapers. Now _my_ guess is that you live mainly in the country when you are at home, and not very much in the city. Is that right?” “Yes, quite right.” “Oh, good! Now I’ll take a fresh start.” Then she wore herself to the bone, naming cities. No success. Next she wanted me to help her a little with some “pointers,” as she phrased it. Was my city large? Yes. Was it very large? Yes. Did they have mobiles there? No. Electric light? No. Railroads, hospitals, colleges, cops? No. “Why, then, it’s not civilized! Where _can_ that place be? Be good and tell me just one peculiarity of it--then maybe I can guess.” “Well, then, just one; it has gates of pearl.”