To explain.  My friendly, volatile American feelings are constantly being shocked at the massed and consolidated indifference of English men and women to each other.  They care for nobody but themselves.  In a certain sense this indifference to other people’s opinions is very satisfactory.  It makes you feel that no matter how outrageous you wanted to be you could not cause a ripple of excitement or interest—­unless Royalty noticed your action.  Then London would tread itself to death in its efforts to see and hear you.  But if an Englishman entered a packed theatre on his hands with his feet in the air, and thus proceeded to make the rounds of the house, the audience would only give one glance, just to make sure that it was nothing more abnormal than a man in evening dress, carrying his crush-hat between his feet and walking on his hands, and then they would return to their exciting conversation of where they were “going to show after the play.”  Even the maids who usher would not smile, but would stoop and put his programme between his teeth for him, and turn to the next comer.

The English mind their own business, and we Americans are so used to interfering with each other, and minding everybody’s business as well as our own, it makes us very homesick indeed, to find that we can do precisely as we please and be let entirely alone.

The English who have been in America, or those who have a single blessed drop of Irish or Scotch blood in their veins, will quite understand what I mean.  Fortunately for us we have found a few of these different sorts, and they have kept us from suicide.  They warned us of the differences we would find.  One man said to me:  “We English do not understand the meaning of the word hospitality compared to you Americans.  Now in the States—­”

“Stop right there, if you please,” I begged, “and say ‘America.’  It offends me to be called ‘the States’ quite as much as if you called me ‘the Colonies’ or ‘the Provinces!’”

“You speak as if you were America,” he said.

“I am,” I replied.

“Now that is just it.  You Americans come over here nationally.  We English travel individually.”

I was so startled at this acute analysis from a man whom I had always regarded as an Englishman that I forgot my manners and I said, “Good heavens, you are not all English, are you?”

“My father was Irish,” he said.

“I knew it!” I cried with joy.  “Please shake hands with me again.  I knew you weren’t entirely English after that speech!”

He laughed.

“I will shake hands with you, of course.  But I am a typical Britisher.  Please believe that.”

“I shall not.  You are not typical.  That was really a clever distinction and quite true.”

He looked as if he were going to argue the point with me, so I hurried on.  I always get the worst of an argument, so I tried to take his mind off his injury.  “Now please go on,” I urged.  “It sounded so interesting.”