Now, figuratively speaking, when you have been buncoed out of five
francs by a menial in a ticket-office, jumped upon and trampled under
foot by a gate-keeper who has kept you cooling your heels outside his
wicket while your inferiors have passed in ahead of you--to have even a
bald-headed man kotow to you, give you the choice berth in the
compartment, move your traps himself, and then apologize for offering
you the best cigarette you ever smoked in your life--well! that is to
have myrrh, and frankincense, and oil of balsam, and balm of Gilead
poured on your tenderest wound.
I accepted the cigarette.
Not haughtily--not even condescendingly--just as a matter of course. He
had evidently found out who and what I was. He had seen me address the
Pigeon Charmer, and had recognized instantly, from my speech and
bearing--both, perhaps--that dominating vital force, that breezy
independence which envelops most Americans, and which makes them so
popular the world over. In thus kotowing he was only getting in line
with the citizens of most of the other effete monarchies of Europe.
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