On his way back from Cleveland, Scott, having the necessary leisure, stopped a couple of days at Niagara Falls. He registered his name at the Clifton House, on the Canada side.

He lost no time in visiting the objects of interest connected with the falls, and at the close of the first day sat on the piazza¹, with the falls in sight.

A blond-bearded young man of perhaps twenty-five, evidently an Englishman, sat near by. He looked at Scott once or twice, as if tempted² to speak, but a certain reticence³ characteristic of his countrymen appeared to prevent.

Scott observed this, and made a remark by way of opening a conversation.

"Yes," answered the young man, "you are right. The falls are grand. You Americans ought to be very proud of them."

"But," said Scott, smiling, "I am not an American."

The Englishman looked surprised, for Scott,[Pg 211] though he had only been in America a year, had come to resemble the people among whom he had cast his lot.

"What, then, are you?" inquired his new acquaintance, looking puzzled.

"I was born in England."

"Indeed!" said the other. "Then we are countrymen."

"I am glad to know it," said Scott, courteously⁴.

"How long have you been in America, if I may ask?"

"A little more than a year."

"And do you live in Canada?"

"No, I live in New York."

"You are not—in business?" queried⁵ the Englishman, noticing his youthful appearance.

"Oh, yes, I am employed by a New York firm."

"But how do you happen—excuse my asking—to be here? But perhaps it is your vacation."

"No, I am traveling for the firm. I am a traveling salesman for the house of Tower, Douglas & Co."

"That is a large firm, I have heard."

"One of the largest in New York."

"I confess I am puzzled. You occupy such a responsible position, and yet you are so young."

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