“Don’t you do it! No Americans there! You stop at one of those big hotels over the bridge—they’re packed full of Americans.”
“But I want to practice my Arabic.”
“Good gracious, do you speak Arabic?”
“Yes—well enough to get along.”
“Why, hang it, you won’t get along in Geneva—they don’t speak Arabic, they speak French. What hotel are you stopping at here?”
“Hotel Pension-Beaurivage.”
“Sho, you ought to stop at the Schweitzerhof. Didn’t you know the Schweitzerhof was the best hotel in Switzerland?— look at your Baedeker.”
“Yes, I know—but I had an idea there warn’t any Americans there.”
“No Americans! Why, bless your soul, it’s just alive with them! I’m in the great reception-room most all the time. I make lots of acquaintances there. Not as many as I did at first, because now only the new ones stop in there—the others go right along through. Where are you from?”
“Arkansaw.”