As he was tucking his napkin into his waistcoat, and ordering our various breakfasts, the gentleman who sat next to him listened--he could not help it--fidgetted, and finally, with some embarrassment, spoke.
"I don't know, sir," he said, "whether you're aware of it--I presume you're a stranger, like myself--but all they _allow_ for what they call breakfast in this hotel is tea or coffee, rolls, and butter; everything else is charged extra." Poppa was touched.

As he said to me afterward, who but an American would have taken the trouble to tell a stranger a thing like that! Not an Englishman, certainly--he would see you bankrupt first! He disguised his own sophistication, and said he was very much obliged, and he almost apologised for not being able to take advantage of the information, and stick to coffee and rolls.
"But the fact is," he said in self-defence, "we may get back for lunch and we may not." "That's all right," the gentleman replied with distinct relief.

"I didn't mind the omelette or the sole, but when it came to fried chicken and strawberries I just had to speak out.

You going to make a long stay in Paris ?" As they launched to conversation momma and I glanced at each other with mutual congratulation.

It was at last obvious that the Senator was going to enjoy his European experiences; we had been a little doubtful about it.