ic realism at the very crisis at
which experience had taught one to expect a crass sentimentality. The
fairy-tale was well told, with some excellent characterization, and very
well played. Indeed, Mr. Frank Craven's rendering of the incompetent
clerk was a masterly and unforgettable piece of comedy. I enjoyed
"Bought and Paid For," and it is on the faith of such plays, imperfect
and timid as they are, that I establish my prophecy of a more glorious
hereafter for the American drama.

VII

EDUCATION AND ART

I had my first glimpses of education in America from the purser of an
illustrious liner, who affirmed the existence of a dog--in fact, his own
dog--so highly educated that he habitually followed and understood human
conversations, and that in order to keep secrets from the animal it was
necessary to spell out the keyword of a sentence instead of pronouncing
it. After this I seemed somehow to be prepared for the American infant
who, when her parents discomfited her just curiosity by the same mean
adult dodge of spelling words, walked angrily out of the room with the
protest: "There's too blank much education in this house for me!"
Nevertheless, she proudly and bravely set herself to learn to spell;
whereupon her parents descended to even worse depths of baseness, and in
her presence would actually whisper in each other's ear. She merely
inquired, with grimness: "What's the good of being educated, anyway?
First you spell words, and when I can spell then you go and whisper!"
And received no adequate answer, naturally.

This captivating creature, whose society I enjoyed at frequent intervals
throughout my stay in America, was a mirror in which I saw the whole
American race of children--their independence, their self-confidence,
their adorable charm, and their neat sauciness. "What _is_ father?" she
asked one day. Now her father happened to be one of the foremost
humorists in the United States; she was baldly informed that he was a
humorist. "What _is_ a humorist?" she went on, ruthlessly, and learned
that a humorist was a person who wrote funny things to make people
laugh. "Well," she said, "I don't honestly think he's very funny at
home." It was naught to her that humorists are not paid to be funny at
home, and that in truth they never under any circumstances are very
funny at home. She just hurled her father from his niche--and then went
forth and boasted of him as a unique peculiarity in fathers, as an
unr