A Steam-boat Scene.

Thames Star, Volume XV, Issue 4715, 16 February 1884, Page 4

A Steam-boat Scene.

A well known San Francisco citizen now prowling, not to say growling, through Europe, writes the following touching experience :— I had been for about half-an-hour, he says, sitting on the deck of one of the miserable little '" packets" that ply between Dover and Calais, and exasperating my fellow-passengers by refusing to join in the carnival of sea-sickness going on

around me, when a ruddy-faced, whitewhiskered, bluff-looking individual who

had been eyeing me for some time, stepped up and said: " Beg pardon, I'm sure, but are you really the American P" " The American !" I replied; " there, are several, I believe."

" Ob, of course, to be sure. I meant the one on board.' I saw 'George B. Blank, San Francisco,. California,' U.S.,' painted on some of the baggage, and I picked you out right away as the owner." And the stranger inspected me from head to foot with as vivid a curiosity as if I'd been a wild man of the woods.

" Well,!' I finally exclaimed, " I am an American. What can Ido for you ?" . " Why-er—nothing—thatis—nooffenoe, -_. I hope, and you are a Californian, too?" he said, rubbing his hands as though he had met a rara avis. " Ever scalped by the Indians ?"

" I think not," I replied. ' " You've scalped some of them, though, haven't you ?" persisted my inquisitor. Concluding that inasmuch as I was in for being made a side show of. I might as well indulge in some of the circus poster sort of thing, I looked my questioner calmly in the eyes and replied : " Some twenty-six or seven, I forget which ; I have the tally nicked in the handle of my scalping knife ; I carry only one bowie in this country. So seldom one runs across any fun over here, you know." " Killed many white men ?" asked the stranger,' who appeared to be actually quivering- with excitement and curiosity. " Only eight or ten," I replied, carelessly. You see, in California there is a sort of close season now for shooting white men. :Taint like the good old man-for-breakfast times. A fellow is only allowed to gun around'promiscuous like for four months in the year. So it's hard to keep one's hand in, don't you see." " Well, I declare," said the apparently stupefied man with the chop whiskers; how about Chinamen ?" '* Oh ! we sill Chinamen all the year round —when they are fat," I explained. "But then there is lately some sort of an

ordinance making it a misdemeanor (o

shoot a pigtail unless lie is on the shady side of the street, or geta in your way. Folks ■ are' getting too particular over there, for a fact," " Ever been divorced ?" finally asked the stranger, whose eyes were now sticking out like pegs on a hat rack. " Nine times, I think," I said. "la fact, I intended to hare been again when , I passed Chicago on my way over, but the train only stopped eleven minutes, and there wasn't time enough to rush it through—takes twenty*two minutes, you know."

I,thought this had knocked him out, "* but after a few* minutes' bewildered cogitation he returned to the charge once more.

. "Is it really true that all Americana wear' chest protectors, and eat nothing but pie?" " Well, you see,-the fact is that Americans are, as yon know, such a frightfully busy people, that they haven't time to sit down and eat a square meal, like you English. They must have something portable—something.they can carry about with them and nibble on the sly. I tell you, sir, it looks like* business when you see forty or fifty men all hanging on to tbe straps of a street car with one hand, and eating,pie.with the other." " I should rather think so," murmured the stranger. ** As for-cheat protectors," I continued, "they are really nothing more than pockets

suspended around the neck, and large enough to (Sarry a whole pie, which it keeps warm at the same time. A good, hot mince pie stowed away in this manner not only imparts a gentle and grateful warmth to the entire system, but keeps a whole day's rations always within reach of the wearer. Grand idea, isn'Ht?"

" Well, I'm blessed!" said my paralysed interrogator, gazing at my child like and ingenious face with profound awe. Would—er—would you oblige me with one of your cards ?'' he said. " I want to show it to my,family, or they'll never believe a word of this—never. Thanks— here's mine." ■ "

. As I stepped, chuckling, into my own compartment, I glanced at thejeard of the stranger. It read: " Julius K. Judkins, San Francisco, Cal."

I have spent about eight hours a day looking for that man ever since."