He drew his arm within Layton's as he said this, and led him two or three turns on the deck in silence. The subject was in some sort a delicate one, and he did not well see how to open it without a certain risk of offending. “Here's how it is,” said he at last. “Our folk isn't your folk because they speak the same language. In _your_ country, your station or condition, or whatever you like to call it, answers for you, and the individual man merges into the class he belongs to. Not so here. _We_ don't care a red cent about your rank, but we want to know about you yourself! Now, you strangers mistake all that feeling, and call it impertinence and curiosity, and such-like; but it ain't anything of the kind! No, sir. It simply means what sort of knowledge, what art or science or labor, can you contribute to the common stock? Are you a-come amongst us to make us wiser or richer or thriftier or godlier; or are you just a loafer,--a mere loafer? My asking _you_ on a rail-car whence you come and where you 're a-goin' is no more impertinence than my inquirin' at a store whether they have got this article or that! I want to know whether you and I, as we journey together, can profit each other; whether either of us mayn't have something the other has never heard afore. He can't have travelled very far in life who has n't picked up many an improvin' thing from men he didn't know the names on, ay, and learned many a sound lesson, besides, of patience, or contentment, forgiveness, and the like; and all that ain't so easy if people won't be sociable together!” Layton nodded a sort of assent; and Quackinboss continued, in the same strain, to point out peculiarities to be observed, and tastes to be consulted, especially with reference to the national tendency to invite to “liquor,” which he assured Layton by no means required a sense of thirst on his part to accede to. “You ain't always charmed when you say you are, in French, sir; and the same spirit of politeness should lead you to accept a brandy-smash without needing it, or even to drink off a cocktail when you ain't dry. After all,” said he, drawing a long breath, like one summing up the pith of a discourse, “if you're a-goin' to pick holes in Yankee coats, to see all manner of things to criticise, condemn, and sneer at, if you 're satisfied to describe a people by a few peculiarities which are not pleasin' to you, go ahead and abuse us; but if you 'll accept honest hospitality, though offered in a way that's new and strange to you,--if you 'll believe in true worth and genuine loyalty of character, even though its possessor talk somewhat through the nose,--then, sir, I say, there ain't no fear that America will disappoint you, or that you 'll be ill-treated by Americans.” With this speech he turned away to look after his baggage and get ready to go ashore. CHAPTER XLI. QUACKINBOSS AT HOME