He walked between
them through the vestibules, absorbing a flow of tribute from each side
with a complacency which his recent trying experiences made all the more
profound. There was always a something, Miss Nancy declared, about an
American who had made his home in England--you could always tell. "In
your case, Mr. Dod, there is an association of Bond Street. I can't
describe it, but it is there. I hope you don't mind my saying so."
"Oh, no," said Dicky, "I guess it's my tailor. He lives in Bond Street;"
but this was artless and not ironical. Miss Cora went further. "I should
have taken Mr. Dod for an Englishman," she said, at which the
miscalculated Mr. Dod looked alarmed.
"Is that so?" he responded. "Then I'll book my passage back at once.
I've been over there too long. You see I've been kind of obliged to
stay for reasons connected with the firm, but you ladies can take my
word for it that when you get through this sort of ridiculous veneer
I've picked up you'll find a regular all-wool-and-a-yard-wide
city-of-Chicago American, and I'm bound to ask you not to forget it.
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