At the Holland House Pierre Mortier relaxed a little. He even became more polite in his expressions regarding America and Americans. But an incident occurred that brought the young reporter’s distaste for the country to a head, and precipitated his departure. One day on returning to the Holland House he forgot to pay his cabman and found him ten hours later still standing in front of the hotel. His charge was a dollar and a half an hour. That meant that Mortier had to give up fifteen dollars. Our friend thought at first the house porter should have paid for the trip, and had the charge made on his bill. Accordingly he complained at the hotel desk regarding what he called a piece of negligence. Although the house was conducted on the French plan they gave him a thoroughly American answer: “Well, that has nothing to do with the porter. You ordered the carriage, didn’t you? Yes. You had the use of it, didn’t you? Yes. Well, then, what do you expect? If you don’t know what you want, it isn’t up to the employees to run after you to find out. They’ve got something else to do.” By the next steamer Pierre Mortier left the United States for good and all, swearing never again to set foot there. Mr. W. Boosey, the English publisher, had some very different experiences in the United States. On board the steamer he had become acquainted with a very interesting and companionable American, who invited him to lunch at Delmonico’s. “Thanks awfully,” said the Englishman as he accepted. “On what day?” “Any day you please.” That was a little vague, but Mr. Boosey assured him that he should be delighted, and would come as soon as he had a free day. He was afraid of not having said the proper thing, from the American point of view. This notion bothered him for several days. Finally, just before sailing, he asked the American again when they should lunch together at Delmonico’s. His friend replied: “On Thursday or Saturday, whichever suits you best.” The Englishman decided on Thursday. The day set for the lunch arrived and Mr. Boosey was prompt to keep the appointment. He asked for Mr. X., and they showed him to a table. Half-past one, two, half-past two, three o’clock, and still no American. The Englishman, patient though he was, began to find time hanging heavily on his hands. He thought he must have made a mistake as to the day, and at last he sent for the manager. “What,” said the manager, “didn’t the waiter tell you that Mr. X. had telephoned that he could not come, and that he begged you to order whatever you liked? He will attend to the account.” Imagine what the Englishman must have thought. He had come to lunch with a gentleman, not to have his food paid for by some one. Just at that moment the American rushed into the restaurant.