“He suspects that she's at Milan, a sort of female college they have there, where they take degrees in singin' and dancin'. All I hope is that the poor child won't learn any of their confounded lazy Italian notions. There's no people can prosper, sir, when their philosophy consists in _Come si fa? Come si fa?_ means it's no use to work, it's no good to strive; the only thing to do in life is to lie down in the shade and suck oranges. That's the real reason they like Popery, sir, because they can even go to heaven without trouble, by paying another man to do the prayin' for 'em. It ain't much trouble to hire a saint, when it only costs lighting a candle to him. And to tell me that's a nation wants liberty and free institutions! No man wants liberty, sir, that won't work for his bread; no man really cares for freedom till he's ready to earn his livin', for this good reason, that the love of liberty must grow out of personal independence, as you'll see, sir, when you take a walk yonder.” And he pointed to the tall steeples of New York as he spoke. But Layton cared little for the discussion of such a theme; his thoughts had another and a very different direction. “Poor Clara!” muttered he. “How is she to be rescued from such a destiny?” “_I_'d say by the energy and determination of the man who cares for her,” said Quackinboss, boldly. “_Come si fa?_ won't save her, that's certain.” “Can you learn anything of the poor child's history from this man, or does he know it?” “Well, sir,” drawled out the Colonel, “that ain't so easy to say. Whether a man has a partic'lar piece of knowledge in his head, or whether a quartz rock has a streak of gold inside of it, is things only to be learned in the one way,--by hammering,--ay, sir, by hammering! Now, it strikes me this Trover don't like hammering; first of all, the sight of you here has made him suspicious--” “Not impossible is it that he may have seen you also, Colonel,” broke in Layton. “Well, sir,” said the other, drawing himself proudly up, “and if he had, what of it? You don't fancy that _we_ are like the Britishers? You don't imagine that when we appear in Eu-rope that every one turns round and whispers, 'That's a gentleman from the United States'? No, sir, it is the remarkable gift of our people to be cosmopolite. We pass for Russian, French, Spanish, or Italian, jest as we like, not from our skill in language, which we do not all possess, so much as a certain easy imitation of the nat-ive that comes nat'ral to us. Even our Western people, sir, with very remarkable features of their own, have this property; and you may put a man from Kentucky down on the Boulevard de Gand to-morrow, and no one will be able to say he warn't a born Frenchman!” “I certainly have not made that observation hitherto,” said Layton, dryly. “Possibly not, sir, because your national pride is offended by our never imitating _you!_ No, sir, we never do that!”