"
"Undoubtedly we have lost all those fine things," replies my Yankee.
"But, thanks to these iron ribbons which will eventually encircle our
globe like a hogshead of cider or a bale of cotton, we can go in
thirteen days from Tiflis to Pekin. That is why, if you expect any
incidents, to enliven you--"
"Certainly, Monsieur Ephrinell."
"Illusions, Mr. Bombarnac! Nothing will happen either to you or me.
Wait a bit, I promise you a journey, the most prosaic, the most homely,
the flattest--flat as the steppes of Kara Koum, which the Grand
Transasiatic traverses in Turkestan, and the plains of the desert of
Gobi it crosses in China--"
"Well, we shall see, for I travel for the pleasure of my readers."
"And I travel merely for my own business."
And at this reply the idea recurred to me that Ephrinell would not be
quite the traveling companion I had dreamed of. He had goods to sell, I
had none to buy. I foresaw that our meeting would not lead to a
sufficient intimacy during our long journey. He was one of those
Yankees who, as they say, hold a dollar between their teeth, which it
is impossible to get away from them, and I should get nothing out of
him that was worth having.
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