“Thank the lord,” said Ida, as they walked up the stairs after waiting ten minutes for the lift, “there are no picture galleries in this town that one _must_ see. The rest of the programme is streets and architecture, which is worth while. These internal streets make me feel as if I were going right through to China, or whatever is underneath Italy. Genoa, before it had any houses on it, must have looked like Last Chance Gulch, Helena, Montana.” They had reached their connecting rooms. Ida extended herself on a sofa, Ora made herself as comfortable as possible in a chair and lit a cigarette. “Say, kid,” pursued Ida, “you smoke too much. Follow my illustrious example. I go just so far and no farther--one cigarette after each meal because it makes me feel nice and aristocratic. You’re the kind that lets a habit run away with you. I deliberate. You drift. See?” Ora laughed. “Funny thing, nature! Anyone would say quite the opposite of each of us.” “It’s like life. Not a blooming thing is just what you figure it out beforehand. Here I wanted the Collins house and I’ve got the Murphy. And Greg, that I figured on being a millionaire by the time I got back, has gone and tied himself up in litigation, or is heading that way.” “You ungrateful wretch! You came to Europe ‘figuring’ on making a thousand dollars serve for the entire trip and you already have had eleven thousand. Most rules work both ways. But you don’t really want to go back?” “I do. It’s been growing for some time and now it’s ingrowing. You can get enough of anything and I’ve had enough of Europe. Besides, I’d like to get back to a country where lifts are elevators and don’t go to sleep a few times on the way up; where it doesn’t take an hour to draw a bath, which it does wherever it’s pronounced băth; where you can drink plain water, and don’t have cheese or garlic or grease in all your food; where you are never taken for what you ain’t; where you are never cheated and overcharged because you’re an American; where you don’t have to see a sight a minute; where you don’t have to talk up to people who don’t give a hang about anything that interests you; where you are not looked upon as a rank outsider by ancient aristocrats and concierges, no matter how polite they try to be; and where the word democracy means what it is. Over here every socialist--I’ll bet every anarchist--would give his front teeth to be a king, a duke, or even a rich bourgeois. That’s what’s the matter with all of them. Give me America, above all, old Montana. A little money and a lot of ‘go’ are all you need out there.” “Oh, Ida! Ida! will you never appreciate the glory of Europe? Is that all you have got out of it?”