“The trouble is my fortune isn't made,” said he. “I'm getting along, but I can't afford to get married yet.” “Don't worry about that,” I begged him. “Our young men all seem to be thinking about money and nothing else. Quit it. Keep out of this great American thought-trust. Any girl that isn't willing to take hold and help you make your fortune isn't worth having. Don't let the vine of your thoughts go twining around the money-pole. If you do they'll make you a prisoner.” “But she is used to every luxury.” “And probably will be glad to try something new. Her mama is not looking for riches, but noble blood, I suppose. Norris's girl looks good to me--nice way of going, as they used to say of the colts. We ought to be able to offer her as high an order of nobility as there is in Europe.” “I'm very common clay,” the boy answered, with a laugh. “And the molding is up to you,” I said, as we rose to go. “Tell them that Gwendolyn's heart is American territory and that I shall stand for no violation of the Monroe Doctrine,” said he. We bade him good-by and went aboard the steamer in as happy a mood as if we had spent six months instead of six hours getting ready. So our voyage began. Going over we felt the strong tides of the spirit which carry so many of our countrymen to the Old World. The _Toltec_ was crowded with tourists of the All-Europe-in-three-weeks variety. There were others, but these were a small minority. Every passenger seemed to be loaded, beyond the Plimsoll mark, with conversation, and in the ship's talk were all the spiritual symptoms of America. We chose partners and went into the business of visiting. The sea shook her big, round sides, immensely tickled, I should say, by the gossip. Our ship was a moving rialto. We swapped stories and exchanged sentiments; we traded hopes and secrets; we cranked up and opened the gas-valve and raced into autobiography. Each got a memorable bargain. We were almost dishonest with our generosity. “Ship ahoy!” we shouted to every man who came our way and noted his tonnage and cargo, his home port and destination. How American! God bless us all! Within forty-eight hours it seemed to me that everybody knew everybody else, except Lord and Lady Dorris, who were aboard, and the adoring group that surrounded them. The big, wide-world thought-trust was well represented in the smoking-room. There were business men and boys just out of college, all expressing themselves in terms of profit and loss--the wealth of this or that man and how he got it, the effect of legislation upon business, and all that kind of thing. Thirty-five years ago such a company would have been talking of the last speeches of Conkling and Ingersoll or the last poems of Whittier and Tennyson.