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the sideboard is slowly coming towards you。
〃Why it must be this stove；〃 you say； 〃curious how difficult it is to
locate sound。〃
You snatch up the children and hurry out of the room。 After a while；
when things have settled down； you venture to look in again。 Maybe
it was only a mild explosion。 A ten…pound note and a couple of
plumbers in the house for a week will put things right again。 They
tell me they are economical； these German stoves； but you have got to
understand them。 I think I have learnt the trick of them at last：
and I don't suppose； all told； it has cost me more than fifty pounds。
And now I am trying to teach the rest of the family。 What I complain
about the family is that they do not seem anxious to learn。
〃You do it；〃 they say； pressing the coal scoop into my hand： 〃it
makes us nervous。〃
It is a pretty； patriarchal idea： I stand between the trusting；
admiring family and these explosive stoves that are the terror of
their lives。 They gather round me in a group and watch me； the
capable； all…knowing Head who fears no foreign stove。 But there are
days when I get tired of going round making up fires。
Nor is it sufficient to understand only one particular stove。 The
practical foreigner prides himself upon having various stoves；
adapted to various work。 Hitherto I have been speaking only of the
stove supposed to be best suited to reception rooms and bedrooms。
The hall is provided with another sort of stove altogether： an iron
stove this； that turns up its nose at coke and potato…peelings。 If
you give it anything else but the best coal it explodes。 It is like
living surrounded by peppery old colonels； trying to pass a peaceful
winter among these passionate stoves。 There is a stove in the
kitchen to be used only for roasting： this one will not look at
anything else but wood。 Give it a bit of coal； meaning to be kind；
and before you are out of the room it has exploded。
Then there is a trick stove specially popular in Belgium。 It has a
little door at the top and another little door at the bottom； and
looks like a pepper…caster。 Whether it is happy or not depends upon
those two little doors。 There are times when it feels it wants the
bottom door shut and the top door open； or vice versa； or both open
at the same time； or both shutit is a fussy little stove。
Ordinary intelligence does not help you much with this stove。 You
want to be bred in the country。 It is a question of instinct： you
have to have Belgian blood in your veins to get on comfortably with
it。 On the whole； it is a mild little stove； this Belgian pet。 It
does not often explode： it only gets angry； and throws its cover
into the air； and flings hot coals about the room。 It lives；
generally speaking； inside an iron cupboard with two doors。 When you
want it； you open these doors； and pull it out into the room。 It
works on a swivel。 And when you don't want it you try to push it
back again； and then the whole thing tumbles over； and the girl
throws her hands up to Heaven and says； 〃Mon Dieu！〃 and screams for
the cook and the femme journee； and they all three say 〃Mon Dieu！〃
and fall upon it with buckets of water。 By the time everything has
been extinguished you have made up your mind to substitute for it
just the ordinary explosive stove to which you are accustomed。
＇I am considered Cold and Mad。＇
In your own house you can； of course； open the windows； and thus
defeat the foreign stove。 The rest of the street thinks you mad； but
then the Englishman is considered by all foreigners to be always mad。
It is his privilege to be mad。 The street thinks no worse of you
than it did before； and you can breathe in comfort。 But in the
railway carriage they don't allow you to be mad。 In Europe； unless
you are prepared to draw at sight upon the other passengers； throw
the conductor out of the window； and take the train in by yourself；
it is useless arguing the question of fresh air。 The rule abroad is
that if any one man objects to the window being open； the window
remains closed。 He does not quarrel with you： he rings the bell；
and points out to the conductor that the temperature of the carriage
has sunk to little more than ninety degrees； Fahrenheit。 He thinks a
window must be open。
The conductor is generally an old soldier： he understands being
shot； he understands being thrown out of window； but not the laws of
sanitation。 If； as I have explained； you shoot him； or throw him out
on the permanent way； that convinces him。 He leaves you to discuss
the matter with the second conductor； who； by your action； has now；
of course； become the first conductor。 As there are generally half a
dozen of these conductors scattered about the train； the process of
educating them becomes monotonous。 You generally end by submitting
to the law。
Unless you happen to be an American woman。 Never did my heart go out
more gladly to America as a nation than one spring day travelling
from Berne to Vevey。 We had been sitting for an hour in an
atmosphere that would have rendered a Dante disinclined to notice
things。 Dante； after ten minutes in that atmosphere； would have lost
all interest in the show。 He would not have asked questions。 He
would have whispered to Virgil：
〃Get me out of this； old man； there's a good fellow！〃
＇Sometimes I wish I were an American Woman。＇
The carriage was crowded； chiefly with Germans。 Every window was
closed； every ventilator shut。 The hot air quivered round our feet
Seventeen men and four women were smoking； two children were sucking
peppermints； and an old married couple were eating their lunch；
consisting chiefly of garlic。 At a junction； the door was thrown
open。 The foreigner opens the door a little way； glides in； and
closes it behind him。 This was not a foreigner； but an American
lady； en voyage； accompanied by five other American ladies。 They
marched in carrying packages。 They could not find six seats
together； so they scattered up and down the carriage。 The first
thing that each woman did； the moment she could get her hands free；
was to dash for the nearest window and haul it down。
〃Astonishes me；〃 said the first woman； 〃that somebody is not dead in
this carriage。〃
Their idea； I think； was that through asphyxiation we had become
comatose； and； but for their entrance； would have died unconscious。
〃It is a current of air that is wanted；〃 said another of the ladies。
So they opened the door at the front of the carriage and four of them
stood outside on the platform； chatting pleasantly and admiring the
scenery； while two of them opened the door at the other end； and took
photographs of the Lake of Geneva。 The carriage rose and cursed them
in six languages。 Bells were rung： conductors came flying in。 It
was all of no use。 Those American ladies were cheerful but firm。
They argued with volubility： they argued standing in the open
doorway。 The conductors； familiar； no doubt； with the American lady
and her ways； shrugged their shoulders and retired。 The other
passengers und