CHAPTER VII.
During the year which followed, Mr.Perry was forced to return to the States, but he made two flying trips across "the pond," as he called it, in the interests of his magazine, always running down his prey of notorieties in that quarter of Europe in which Miss Vance and her charges chanced to be.
When he came in July he found them in a humble little inn in Bozen.

He looked with contempt at the stone floors, the clean cell-like chambers, each with its narrow bed, and blue stone ewer perched on a wooden stool; and he sniffed with disgust when breakfast was served on a table set out in the Platz.
"Don't know," he said, "whether I can digest food, eating out of doors.
Myself, I never give in to these foreign ways.

It's time they learned manners from us." "I have no doubt," said Miss Vance placidly, "that you can find one of the usual hotels built for rich Americans in the town.

We avoid them.
We search out the inns du pays to see as far behind the scenes as we can.

I don't care to go to those huge houses with mobs of Chicagoans and New Yorkers; and have the couriers and portiers turn the flashlights on Europe for me, as if it were a burlesque show." "Now, that's just what I like!" said Perry.