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Penelope's Experiences in Scotland-Part7_Kate Douglas Wiggin(1856-1923)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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your other neighbour?"

"I did, as soon as I could with courtesy; but the man on my left was



the type that always haunts me at dinners; if the hostess hasn't one

on her visiting-list she imports one for the occasion. He asked me



at once of what material the Brooklyn Bridge is made. I told him I

really didn't know. Why should I? I seldom go over it. Then he



asked me whether it was a suspensionbridge or a cantilever. Of

course I didn't know; I am not an engineer."



"You are so tactlessly, needlessly candid," I expostulated. "Why

didn't you say boldly that the Brooklyn Bridge is a wooden



cantilever, with gutta-percha braces? He didn't know, or he

wouldn't have asked you. He couldn't find out until he reached



home, and you would never have seen him again; and if you had, and

he had taunted you, you could have laughed vivaciously and said you



were chaffing. That is my method, and it is the only way to

preserve life in a foreign country. Even my earl, who did not



thirst for information (fortunately), asked me the population of the

Yellowstone Park, and I simply told him three hundred thousand, at a



venture."

"That would never have satisfied my neighbour," said Francesca.



"Finding me in such a lamentable state of ignorance, he explained

the principle of his own stupid Forth Bridge to me. When I said I



understood perfectly, just to get into shallower water, where we

wouldn't need any bridge, the Reverend Ronald joined in the



conversation, and asked me to repeat the explanation to him.

Naturally I couldn't, and he knew that I couldn't when he asked me,



so the bridge man (I don't know his name, and don't care to know it)

drew a diagram of the national idol on his dinner-card and gave a



dull and elaborate lecture upon it. Here is the card, and now that

three hours have intervened I cannot tell which way to turn the



drawing so as to make the bridge right side up; if there is anything

puzzling in the world, it is these architectural plans and diagrams.



I am going to pin it to the wall and ask the Reverend Ronald which

way it goes."



"Do you mean that he will call upon us?" we cried in concert.

"He asked if he might come and continue our `stimulating'



conversation, and as Lady Baird was standing by I could hardly say

no. I am sure of one thing: that before I finish with him I will



widen his horizon so that he will be able to see something beside

Scotland and his little insignificant Fifeshire parish! I told him



our country parishes in America were ten times as large as his. He

said he had heard that they covered a good deal of territory, and



that the ministers' salaries were sometimes paid in pork and

potatoes. That shows you the style of his retorts!"



"I really cannot decide which of you was the more disagreeable,"

said Salemina; "if he calls, I shall not remain in the room."



"I wouldn't gratify him by staying out," retorted Francesca. "He is

extremely good for the circulation; I think I was never so warm in



my life as when I talked with him; as physical exercise he is equal

to bicycling. The bridge man is coming to call, too. I made him a



diagram of Breadalbane Terrace, and a plan of the hall and

staircase, on my dinner-card. He was distinctly ungrateful; in



fact, he remarked that he had been born in this very house, but

would not trust himself to find his way upstairs with my plan as a



guide. He also said the American vocabulary was vastlyamusing, so

picturesque, unstudied, and fresh."



"That was nice, surely," I interpolated.

"You know perfectly well that it was an insult."



"Francesca is very like that young man," laughed Salemina, "who,

whenever he engaged in controversy, seemed to take off his flesh and



sit in his nerves."

"I'm not supersensitive," replied Francesca, "but when one's



vocabulary is called picturesque by a Britisher, one always knows he

is thinking of cowboys and broncos. However, I shifted the weight



into the other scale by answering `Thank you. And your phraseology

is just as unusual to us.' `Indeed?' he said with some surprise.



`I supposed our method of expression very sedate and uneventful.'

`Not at all,' I returned, `when you say, as you did a moment ago,



that you never eat potato to your fish.' `But I do not,' he urged

obtusely. `Very likely,' I argued, `but the fact is not of so much



importance as the preposition. Now I eat potato WITH my fish.'

`You make a mistake,' he said, and we both laughed in spite of



ourselves, while he murmured, `eating potato WITH fish--how

extraordinary.' Well, the bridge man may not add perceptibly to the






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