That is where the Americans are clever, in the
beautiful laying-out of their towns; but then, as I said, they have not
old debris to contend with, though I shall always think it looks queer
and unfinished to see houses standing just in a mown patch unseparated
from the road by any fence. I should hate the idea of strangers being
able to peep into my windows.
We left about twelve, after being interviewed by several reporters in
the hall of the hotel. These halls are apparently meeting places for
countless men, simply crammed like one could have imagined a portico in
the Roman days,--not people necessarily staying there, but herds of
others from outside. The type gets thicker as one leaves New York. It
reminds one of a funny man I once saw in the pantomime who put on about
six suits, one after another, growing gradually larger, though no
taller or fatter--just thick. All these in the hall were meaty, not one
with that lean look of the pictures of "Uncle Sam," but more like our
"John Bull," only not portly and complacent as he is, but just thick
all over, at about the three coat stage; thick noses, thick hair, thick
arms, thick legs, and nearly invariably clean-shaven and keen looking.
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