IN THE TRAIN.

Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1861, 22 September 1913, Page 8

IN THE TRAIN.

A POLITE CONVERSATION,

Tho. polite Frenchman, without going so far as to exchange seat® with tiho English lady, had; yet shown himself infinitely accommodating in assisting hdr to ovcrcomo the defects of her own by -adjusting the window so that she and her husband could soo something of tlio scene,l7 through which we were passing. Tho complete success, with which sSio had used tho words "oui," "11011," and "mcrci," as if thoy 'had been her natural metho.d of expression sinco childhood, 110'w led hor to conceivo tho enterprise of a short flight of conversation. Waving her hand to include pine-clad slopes, fiver gorge, and distant snow mountains, sno said boldly, "Ires Her husband, wlio was seated opposite to 1110, gave mo a look, which Beemed to say, "You couldn't do that if you tried. Now sou what comes of it, and don't lose anything." The Frenclimaii replied in volublo English. A shado ot disappointment crossed the lmsband'ff face, though tho lady showed relief, as at a peril emerged from with credit. ''Ah, I see yen talk English 1" said the Englishman' encouragingly. "Not vtr' well," said tliu Frenchman, "but I like to talk eet." "Well, bo do 1," said' the Englishman. ''In fact, I can't talk anything olso. Nover had the time to pick up languages, except, of course, a bit of Latin at school. They always teach us Latin at schbol in England." "All, you aro Latin scholar 1" Baid the Frenchman brightly. "M© also, 1 like Latin. I take always Horace with me when I make a jovriiey.''' Ho produced a little vellum-boaind book from his pocket and handed 1 it to the Englishman, who turned over tlio leaves witili an air of knowin.se familiarity. "Yes, that's Horace all right," he admitted handsomelv. "Thank you, sir; a very nice little book; it's wonderful how they get thoso things up nowadays.". .. „ , „ • "You liko tho Odes?" asked the Erenchma.il, fingering the pages affectionately. "I have learnt to Bay many of tho Orlpj). Yoix also have your favourites?" "Well, I can't say that I know Horace intimately," said tha Englishman, "not like I know Shakespeare, for instance —our great English poet, you know. You see. Horaco wrote in what wo call in England a dead languago, and I think myself it would be hotter if they taught us French and German at school instead of Greek and Latin. Do you speak any other languages, may I ask, besides English?"' "I speak Italian," said tho Frenchman with a deprecatory shrug, "and German, yes, a little, and I mako myself understood in Spanish."

"Do you?" said the Englishman admiringly. "Well, of course, you being a foreigner, foreign languages ,como easier to you than they would to' us. And I suppose becauso w© don't have to learn them we're too lazy to do so. You see, wherever you go peoplo talk our language. Now if you _ camo to England you wouldn't find it bo wi*li your,s." He said this with an air of pride, and tho Frenchman, turning to the lady, said politely: "But, madame, sli© talk French. The English ladies thoy lilco to talk French."

"Oh, I can't speak it wall," said tho lady, with a slight air of alarm; "not nearly to' well as you speak English, mossier. I suppose you've been in England?"

"Not much," said tho Frenchman, "I have been m London, yes." "Wo live in London, said the lady. "Brixton.. Did you aot-lioro?"

"Breextonl. No, I do. not know Breexton. It is near Trafalgar Square?" "Well, not very far. But I know Trafalgar So.uare. I suppose you saw the Nelson column and the lions?'-'

"Yes, I see Nelson and his lions. They are the Breetish lions is it not?" _ I "Ah, I see you know all about it," said the Englishman, responding to ais smile. "And how did you think London compared with Paris now?" "London is beegcr than Pans," said the Frenchman reflectively"Yes, it is much beeger. But Paris is more, gayYou have been in Paris?" "Not to know- it,_ as . you might , say. Wa drove through it the other dayon our way here. But it was raining. It didn't strike mo as boing as gay as they always say." "If it was raining, no. But you also have rain in London, \and fog. Wo do not have fog in Paris." "That's becauso you're not near the sea.. Wo have to pay, you see, for boing a maritime nation. But we think it's worth it. Blue water school, you know, and all that sort of thing." The Frenchman did not seem to capture tho allusion. He turned to the lady. "The English ladies they like to come to Paris for the shops and the clothes," ho said. "Wo have good shopß in Brixton, she said, "and all tho Paris fashions. I will say that I think they are more 'chick' than tho English fashions, though 'I don't ;go in for thorn 1 much' myself." • "The English ladies like tho Fronch clothes," said the Frenchman, "and the Fronch gentlemen like tho English clothes. Also the English sports. • "Yes, I read somewhero that they'd takeii to football in Franco," said the Englishman. "Very cre.ditable I call it, becauso vou can easily hurt yourself at it, yon know. I nearly broke my collar-bone when I was a boy at school. You go in for golf, too, don't you?" "Yes, we play golf ver' well." "It's a game I don't think much of myself. Footling, I call it, though it',s all the rage now, and I dare say it sfits you very well. Cricket and football aro the games that have made us Englishmen what wo are. I daro say you've heard what tho Duke of Wellington said about tho Battle of "Waterloo being won on —oh, I beg your pardon 1 That's a sore subject, I expect. Well, it's all over/now, isn't it? We're very good fricndß and can forget our little differences of tho past. I dare Bay wo can both toaoh each otnor something." "Somo day wo will toacli you to oooli food," said the Frenchman engagingly. "Your English food is horrceble." r "Oh, but you mustn't say that, you know. Plain, yes, I grant you. But it makes lnusclo and brain —bott-or than all your kickshaws. If you want to come up to us in sports, you'll have to learn to eat good beef instead of frogs, and that sort of thing." _ , ■ , "All, yes, frogs. They tell mo much about frogs in London. And shall wo come up to vou in itlio brains if wo loam to eat raw beef and mutton?" "We don't cat it raw. That's a pure invention of you Frenchmen. Well, of courso, we'vo been feeding our brains on good, wholesome food for a number of years now. You can't expect to come up to us all at once, you know. Still, we'll teach you in time." "Thaifc is good of you. Wo will loam of you to make Uso of our brains. And what will you learn of us?" "Learn of you, ell? We'll see about that when wo'vo got on a bit further. You've got to • leam a lot yourselves first, you know. But you're getting on very well—very well, indeed." Tho dining-car attendant came through tho compartment to announce luncheon. The Frenchman rose. "I go to oat a kickshaw," ho said, with a delightful smile. Monsieur bowed himself off. The Englishman turned to mo with a Bmile. "They think a lot of themselves, don't tliev?" ho said. "But we'll teach 'em. Wo'll teach 'em in time." "And I will say that they've cot a way with them," said tho lady.—Archibald Marshall in tha "Daily Mail."