our reason now, for
preferring Americans as a nation?"

We saw our first Italian shrug. It is more prolonged, more sentimental
than French ones. In this case it expressed the direct responsibility of
Fate.

"I think," he said, "that they are more _simpatica_--sympatheticated to
us." He seemed to be unaware of me, but his eye rested upon momma at
this point, and took her into his confidence.

"We also," said she reciprocally, "are always charmed to see Italians in
our country."

I wondered privately whether she was thinking of hand organ men or
members of the Mafia society, but it was no opportunity to inquire. My
impression is that about this time, in spite of Tuscany outside, I went
to sleep, because my next recollection is of the little Captain pouring
Chianti out of a large black bottle into momma's jointed silver
travelling cup. I remember thinking when I saw that, that they must have
made progress. Scraps of conversation floated through my waking moments
when the train stopped--I heard momma ask him if his parents were both
living and where his home was. I also understood her to inquire whether
the Italians were domestic in their tastes or whether they were like the
French, who, she believed, had no home life at all. I saw the Senator
put a card in his pocket-book and restore it to his breast, and heard
him inquire whether his new Italian acquaintance wore his uniform every
day as a matter of choice or because he had to. An hour went by, and
when I finally awoke it was to see momma sitting by with folded hands
and an expression of much gratification while poppa gave a graphic
account of the rise and progress of the American baking-powder interest.
"I don't expect," said he, "you've ever heard of Wick's Electric
Corn-flour?"

"It is my misfortune."

"We sent thousands of cans to Southern Europe last year, sir. Or Wick's
Sublimated Soda?"

"I am stupidissimo."

"No, not at all. But I daresay your momma knows it, if she ever has
waffles on her breakfast table. Well, it's been a kind of kitchen
revolution. We began by making a hundred pounds a week--and couldn't
always get rid of it. Now--why the day before I sailed we sent six
thousand cans to the Queen of Madagascar. I hope she'll read the
instructions!"

"It takes the breath. What splendid revenue must be from that!"

The Senator merely smiled, and played with his watch chain. "I should
hate to brag," he said, but anyone could see from the absence of a