A few years ago I went with a group of Americans to see one of the famous ice caves in the Alps. The accommodating guides had lighted candles in the labyrinth and the sight was enchanting. One of my party, a dry-goods dealer, said with genuine enthusiasm: "My! I wish I could get such a shade of silk in New York." The other said: "Too bad; so much perfectly good ice going to waste." He belonged to the much maligned tribe of ice-men. The rest of the men said nothing, although one of them did remark when we reached our hotel: "This only shows how slow they are over here. In the good old United States we would light that show with electricity." He belongs to the tribe whose name is legion.
The Herr Director, as my readers have found, was very chary of his praise, in fact thus far I had not heard a good word from him for my United States; but that evening as we looked from the Mountain House down upon the dark, deep lake, the rock gardens and the quaint bowers on every promontory, granite walls broken and scattered, and the rich valley between us and the Catskills, he did say: "This is the most beautiful spot I have ever seen!"
Of course his generous mood was partially gendered by the unequalled hospitality of our host and hostess and by the sight of his fellow guests, who represented not only the entire United States, but the United States at its best. Moreover, he and his wife had received a more than cordial welcome because they were representative foreigners and spoke English with a "cute accent."
I almost felt a slight touch of jealousy upon that point although I am not of a jealous nature. But I have noticed this: to the degree that my English has improved, to that degree I have become less interesting to my American friends, so that I have sometimes been tempted to wish that I too might speak English with a "cute accent."
The happy day was almost spoiled for me by the discovery that our trunks had not arrived. The Herr Director worked himself into a frenzy and the Frau Directorin had dire forebodings of having to spend the three days in the same shirt-waist. Telegrams were sent in all directions, while the Herr Director called our much boasted of baggage system hard names; my "best laid schemes" seemed about to "gang agley" when much to my relief the trunks arrived, and I felt once more assured of the divine favor in my most strenuous efforts to "boost" my United States.