A Frenchman in America Part 40

"Oh, that's all right," he interrupted. "I'll exhibit your corpse; I guess there will be just as much money in it!"

Grand Rapids is noted for its furniture manufactories. A draughtsman, who is employed to design artistic things for the largest of these manufactories, kindly showed me over the premises of his employers. I was not very surprised to hear that when the various retail houses come to make their yearly selections, they will not look at any models of the previous season, so great is the rage for novelties in every branch of industry in this novelty-loving America.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MY EXHIBITOR.]

No sinecure, that draughtsman's position, I can tell you.

Over in Europe, furniture is reckoned by periods. Here it is an affair of seasons.

Very funny to have to order a new sideboard or wardrobe, "to be sent home without delay" for fear of its being out of date.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XLIII.

GOOD-BY TO AMERICA--NOT "ADIEU," BUT "AU REVOIR"--ON BOARD THE "TEUTONIC"--HOME AGAIN.

_New York, April 26._

THE last two days have vanished rapidly in paying calls.

This morning my impresario gave me a farewell breakfast at the Everett House. Edmund Clarence Stedman was there; Mark Twain, George Kennan, General Horace Porter, General Lloyd Bryce, Richard Watson Gilder, and many others sat at table, and joined in wis.h.i.+ng me _bon voyage_.

Good-by, my dear American friends, I shall carry away sweet recollections of you, and whether I am re-invited in your country or not, I will come again.

_April 27._

The saloon on board the _Teutonic_ is a ma.s.s of floral offerings sent by friends to the pa.s.sengers. Two huge beautiful baskets of lilies and roses are mine.

The whistle is heard for the third time. The hands are pressed and the faces kissed, and all those who are not pa.s.sengers leave the boat and go and take up position on the wharf to wave their handkerchiefs until the steamer is out of sight. A great many among the dense crowd are friendly faces familiar to me.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TWO BASKETS FOR ME.]

The huge construction is set in motion, and gently and smoothly glides from the docks to the Hudson River. The sun is s.h.i.+ning, the weather glorious.

The faces on land get less and less distinct. For the last time I wave my hat.

Hallo, what is the matter with me? Upon my word, I believe I am sad. I go to the library, and, like a child, seize a dozen sheets of note paper on which I write: "Good-by." I will send them to New York from Sandy Hook.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE "TEUTONIC."]

The _Teutonic_ is behaving beautifully. We pa.s.s Sandy Hook. The sea is perfectly calm. Then I think of my dear ones at home, and the happiest thoughts take the place of my feelings of regret at leaving my friends.

My impresario, Major J. B. Pond, shares a beautiful, well-lighted, airy cabin with me. He is coming to England to engage Mr. Henry M. Stanley for a lecture tour in America next season.

The company on board is large and choice. In the steerage a few disappointed American statesmen return to Europe.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A FEW DISAPPOINTED STATESMEN."]

Oh! that _Teutonic!_ can any one imagine anything more grand, more luxurious? She is going at the rate of 450 miles a day. In about five days we shall be at Queenstown.

_Liverpool, May 4._

My most humble apologies are due to the Atlantic for libeling that ocean at the beginning of this book. For the last six days the sea has been perfectly calm, and the trip has been one of pleasure the whole time.

Here is another crowd on the landing-stage at Liverpool.

And now, dear reader, excuse me if I leave you. You were present at the friendly farewell handshakings on the New York side; but, on this Liverpool quay, I see a face that I have not looked upon for five months, and having a great deal to say to the owner of it, I will politely bow you out first.

[Ill.u.s.tration]