rst; then his sharp
little face seemed turning into a point of admiration. "By
Je_hos_aphat!" he ejaculated. "Home-made goods will get the preference
over British this time, duty or _no_ duty."

I couldn't think what either of them meant, though at first I was
afraid my man intended the other to understand that the five minutes
would be devoted to knocking him down, or something else violent, as a
punishment for impertinence to a defenceless foreigner. But my mind was
almost instantly relieved, for the two men walked off together quite
amicably, and stood talking at a distance.

A moment later, one of my boxes went by, looking very fat and friendly,
on the shoulders of a porter, who apparently had no head. I rushed out,
and seized it--not the head, but the box; so there was something
encouraging; but I had two pieces of luggage to wait for still.

Most of the other "B's" were more fortunate about getting their things;
nevertheless, they seemed far from easy in their minds, and though they
protested almost tearfully that they'd nothing whatever to declare,
stern persons in uniform stirred up their boxes as I used to do with
the nursery pudding, when all the plums had sunk to the bottom.

I was very tired and very hot, hotter than I'd supposed people could
be, except in a Turkish bath; and I was beginning to be hungry too, for
I'd lunched principally off the Statue of Liberty and Sky-scrapers,
which were more filling than lasting, as a meal.

I fanned myself with my handkerchief as well as I could, and felt sure
I was slowly getting appendicitis; because whenever Americans feel
uncomfortable in any way, it seems almost certain to turn eventually
into that, probably on account of the climate. Would my other boxes
_never_ come? I thought. Most of the "B's" were going home. They had
homes, lucky people, and if they liked, they could presently have tea.

"World without tea,
Ah me!"

When I was small, and my nurse talked on Sundays about heaven and hell,
making the one sound incredibly dull, the other incredibly painful, I
used to think that I'd rather go to neither, but just be stuffed, like
Mother's Blenheim, Beau Brummel, whose soul I fancied had leave to stop
in his body so long as moth and rust did not corrupt. He seemed rather
out of things, though, poor dear, standing forever in the same position
in a glass case, with one paw up begging for something which nobody
gave, while the years dragged on; and I'd