It is difficult to imagine the filth on which I fed my hungry interviewers. Like an experienced swine-herd, I gaze with horror on the mess they feed upon. They eat and yet they live. Although, I must admit, I do not see them growing fat! Yesterday morning I flew in an aeroplane over Rome and the Campagna. You will probably ask whether I saw Maria's home? No. I did not find it: how can one find a grain of sand among a myriad of other grains--But I really did not look for it: I felt horror-stricken at the great altitude.
But my good interviewers, restless and impatient, were astounded by my coolness and courage. One fellow, strong, surly and bearded, who reminded me of Hannibal, was the first to reach me after the flight, and asked:
"Did not the sensation of flying in the air, Mr. Wondergood, the feeling of having conquered the elements, thrill you with a sense of pride in man, who has subdued----"
He repeated the question: they don't seem to trust me, somehow, and are always suggesting the proper answers. But I shrugged my shoulders and exclaimed sadly:
"Can you imagine Signor--No! Only once did I have a sense of pride in men and that was--in the lavatory on board the 'Atlantic.'"
"Oh! In the lavatory! But what happened? A storm, and you were astounded by the genius of man, who has subdued----"
"Nothing extraordinary happened. But I was astounded by the genius of man who managed to create a palace out of such a disgusting necessity as a lavatory."
"A real temple, in which one is the arch priest!"
"Permit me to make a note of that. It is such an original--illumination of the problem----"
And to-day the whole Eternal City was feeding on this sally. Not only did they not request me to leave the place, but on the contrary, this was the day of the first official visits to my apartments: something on the order of a minister of state, an ambassador or some other palace chef came and poured sugar and cinnamon all over me as if I were a pudding. Later in the day I returned the visits: it is not very pleasant to keep such things.
Need I say that I have a nephew? Every American millionaire has a nephew in Europe. My nephew's name is also Wondergood. He is connected with some legation, is very correct in manners and his bald spot is so oiled that my kiss could serve me as a breakfast were I fond of scented oil. But one must be willing to sacrifice something, especially the gratification of a sense of smell. The kiss cost me not a cent, while it meant a great deal to the young man. It opened for him a wide credit on soap and perfumery.