THE BATHING SEASON, 157 



shoulder in a train, and merely replaces his head 

 if you wake him twenty times. The very same thing 

 has happened to me in the parks, and in country 

 fields ; particularly it happens at the British Museum 

 and the picture galleries, there is room sufficient in 

 all conscience ; but if you try to make a note Or a 

 rough memorandum sketch you get a jog. There is 

 a jogger everywhere, just as there is a buzzing fly 

 everywhere in summer. The jogger travels, too. 



One day, while studying in the Louvre, I am certain 

 three or four hundred French people went by me, 

 mostly provincials I fancy, country-folk, in short, 

 from their dress, which was not Parisian, and their 

 accent, which was not of the Boulevards. Of all 

 these not one interfered with me ; they did not 

 approach within four or five feet. How grateful I 

 felt towards them ! One man and his sweetheart, a 

 fine southern girl with dark eyes and sun-browned 

 cheeks, sat down near me on one of the scanty seats 

 provided. The man put his umbrella and his hat 

 on the seat beside him. What could be more natural ? 

 No one else was there, and there was room for three 

 more couples. Instantly an official — an authority! 

 — stepped hastily forward from the shadow of some 

 sculpture (beasts of prey abide in darkness), snatched 

 up the umbrella and hat, and rudely dashed them 

 on the floor. In a flow of speech he explained that 

 nothing must be placed on the seats. The man, who 

 had his handkerchief in his hand, quietly dropped it 

 into his hat on the floor and replied nothing. This 

 was an official ''jogger." I felt indignant to see and 

 hear people treated in this rough manner; but the 



