to mottled conceptions as thick as a small barrel.  He found a difficulty in explaining, however, even with an Italian phrase book, that it was the manufacture only about which he was curious, and that, admirable as the result might be, he did not wish to buy any of it.  When the latter fact finally made itself plain, the proprietor became truculent and gave us, although he spoke no English, so vivid an idea of the inconsistency of our presence in his premises, that we retired in all the irritation of the well-meaning and misunderstood.  The Senator, however, who had absolute confidence in his phrase book, saw a deeper significance in the remarkable unwillingness of the people of Bologna to expatiate upon the feature which had given them fame.  “The fact is,” said he gloomily, restoring his note-book to his inside pocket as we entered the terra-cotta doorway of St. Catarina, “they’re not anxious to let a stranger into the know of it.”  And this conviction remaining with him, still inspires the Senator with a contemptuous pity for the porcine methods of a people who refuse to submit them to the light of day and the observation of the world at large.

CHAPTER XIX.

So far, momma said she had every reason to be pleased with the effect on her mind.  About the Senator’s she would not commit herself, beyond saying that we had a great deal to be thankful for in that his health hadn’t suffered, in spite of the indigestibility of that eternal French twist and honey that you were obliged on the Continent to begin the day with.  She hoped, I think, that the Senator had absorbed other things beside the French twist equally unconsciously, with beneficial results that would appear later.  He said himself that it was well worth anybody’s while to make the trip, if only in order to be better satisfied with America for the rest of his life, but why people belonging to the United States and the nineteenth century should want to spend whole summers in the Middle Ages he failed to understand.  Both my parents, however, looked forward to Venice with enthusiasm.  Momma expected it to be the realization of all her dreams, and poppa decided that it must, at all events, be unique.  It couldn’t have any Arno or any Campagna in the nature of things—­that would be a change—­and it was not possible to the human mind, however sophisticated, with a livelong experience of street cars and herdics, to stroll up and take a seat in a gondola and know exactly what would happen, where the fare-box was and everything, and whether they took Swiss silver, and if a gentleman in a crowded gondola was expected to give up his seat to a lady and stand.  Poppa, as a stranger and unaccustomed to the motion, hoped this would not be the case, but I knew him well enough to predict that if it were so he would vindicate American gallantry at all risks.