In Pastures New

by George Ade

  CHAPTER IX

  THE STORY OF WHAT HAPPENED TO AN AMERICAN CONSUL

  In undertaking a trip to foreign parts I have had two objects in view:--

  (a) To strengthen and more closely cement our friendly relations withforeign Powers--I to furnish the cement.

  (b) To reform things in general over here.

  I found that there was no opening for a real reformer in the U.S.A.,inasmuch as the magazines were upsetting municipal rings, cornering theBeef Trust, and camping on the trail of every corporation that seemedto be making money. I said:--"If I wish to make a ten strike as areformer I must seek new fields."

  So I decided to flit to Europe and spend all the time I could sparefrom dodging _table d'hote_ dinners to bolstering up and regulating theconsular service.

  In writing to-day about the happy experiences of an American consul Iam following the advice of a friend who urged me to send some lettersback home.

  "Don't put in too much about your travels," he said. "People have readabout European travel until they know Munich better than they doMontana. Whenever the opportunity presents itself write somethingentirely irrelevant--something that has nothing to do with anything inparticular. The less you say about foreign countries the better youwill please your readers, and if you can arrange to write a series ofletters in which no reference is made to either Europe or Africa whoknows but what you will score a hit?"

  With no desire to boast of my accomplishments, I feel that up to date Ihave followed instructions rather closely. If any dates, statistics,or useful information have crept into these communications it isthrough oversight and not by intention.

  In writing from Paris the natural impulse is to describe Napoleon'stomb and tell how the Champs Elysees runs right out to the Arc deTriomphe and then cuts through the Bois de Boulogne. Fearing that thissubject matter had been touched upon by other visitors, I shalldisregard Paris and go straight to my task of reforming the consularservice.

  To begin with, usually the American Consul is all right in his place,but his place is at home. Overpaid, possibly, but he does his best toearn his $800 per annum. If he kept all the money that he handled inthe course of the year, he couldn't be a really successful grafter. Hefinds himself plumped down in a strange country. About the time thathe begins to learn the language and has saved up enough money to buyevening clothes he is recalled and goes back home with a "dress suit"on his hands. Take the case of Mr. Eben Willoughby, of Michigan. Itis a simple narrative, but it will give you a line on the shortcomingsof our consular service, and it will carry its own moral.

  "Old Man" Willoughby, as he was known at home, owned and edited asuccessful daily paper on the outskirts of the Michigan pine belt. Hewas a wheel horse in the party and for forty years had supported thecaucus nominees. The aspiring politician who wished to go to Congresshad to go and see Willoughby with his hat in his hand. He helped tomake and unmake United States Senators and was consulted regardingappointments. But he never had asked anything for himself. His twoboys went to college at Ann Arbor, and when the younger came home withhis degree and began to take a hand in running the paper Mr. Willoughbyfound himself, for the first time in his life, relieved of wearingresponsibilities. He was well fixed financially and still in the primeof life--not due to retire permanently, but ready to take it easy. Foryears he had nursed a vague desire to travel beyond the limits of hisnative land. Mrs. Willoughby, who in the home circle was known as"Ma," was a devotee of the Chautauqua Circle, and she, too, had anambition born of much reading to pack up and go somewhere. The familydoctor said that a visit to some milder climate, far from the rigoursof northern winter, would be a positive benefit to her.

  _Had to go and see Willoughby_]

  So Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby began to study the atlas. One of the sonssuggested to "Old Man" Willoughby that he could take a trip to anattractive southern country at the minimum expense by securing anappointment as consul. And, of course, apart from the financialadvantage, there would be the glory of representing a great nation andhoisting the flag over a benighted foreign population. The suggestionappealed very strongly to Mr. Willoughby. He wrote to the Congressmanand the Senator, and wanted to know if there was a vacancy--salary noobject, but he would like to go into a mild and equable climate wherehe could pick cocoanuts.

  His friends at Washington simply overturned the State Department intheir eagerness to give him what he wanted. They discovered that therewas somewhere on the map a city called Gallivancia. It was down by thesouthern seas--the abode of perpetual summer and already enjoying apreliminary boom as a resort. The acting consul had been a Britishsubject. The pay was so small that no enterprising American had wantedthe job. "United States Consul at Gallivancia" reverberated pleasantlyin the imagination of Mr. Willoughby. He told his friends atWashington to go after the place, and in less than no time his dailypaper announced that he had "accepted" the appointment.

  The politicians represented to the State Department that Mr. Willoughbywas a sturdy patriot of unimpeachable character and great ability--allof which was true. They might have added that he would be just as muchat home in Gallivancia as a polar bear would be on India's coral strand.

  The news of his appointment gave one section of Michigan the tremblesfor several days, and the Willoughby family was bathed in a newimportance. Mrs. Willoughby was given a formal farewell by the ladiesof the congregation assembled in the church parlours. Mr. Willoughbywas presented with a jewelled badge by the members of his lodge, andthe band serenaded him the night before he went away.

  He and "ma" stood on the back platform and gazed with misty eyes at theflutter of handkerchiefs on the station platform until the train swungaround a curve and they found themselves headed straight forGallivancia and glory. Both of them felt a little heart-achey anddubious, but it was too late to back out. At New York they boarded aship and after several days of unalloyed misery they landed atGallivancia.

  Now, Gallivancia is the make-believe capital of a runt of an islandhaving no commercial or other importance. No matter where an islandmay be dropped down, some nation must grab it and hold it for fear thatsome other nation will take charge of it and pay the expenses. That iswhy Gallivancia had a governor general and a colonel in command, andthe Right Honourable Skipper of the gunboat and a judge and a clusterof foreign consuls. The men had a club at which whiskey and watercould be obtained, unless the bottle happened to be empty. The womenexchanged calls and gave formal dinners and drove about in ricketylittle victorias with terrified natives in livery perched upon the box.The lines of social precedence were closely drawn. At a dinner partythe wife of the governor preceded the wife of the military commanderwho, in turn, queened it over the wife of the gunboat, who looked downupon the wife of the magistrate, and so on. The women smokedcigarettes and gambled at bridge, while every man who had won a medalat a shooting match pinned it on his coat when he went to a ball. Itwas a third-rate copy of court life, but these small dignitaries wentthrough the motions and got a lot of fun out of it in one way andanother. If we cannot afford a social position that is real ivory, thenext best thing is to get one that is celluloid. It had all theintricate vices of a true nobility without the bona fide titles to backthem up and give the glamour.

  Into this nest of pretentious, ceremonious, strutting little mortalscame "Old Man" Willoughby and "Ma" Willoughby of Michigan. Of theoutward form and artificialities of a Europeanised aristocratic societythey were most profoundly ignorant. Mr. Willoughby did not even own a"dress suit." When he got a clean shave and put on a string tie andbacked into a "Prince Albert" coat he felt that he had made a verylarge concession to the mere fripperies of life. And "Ma" had her ownideas about low-necked gowns.

  Can you see Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby in Gallivancia? Can you understandwhat must have been the attitude of these gold-braid pewees toward anold-fashioned apple pie couple from the tall timber?

  Mind you, I am not poking fun at the Willoughbys. In the opinion of
every real American a man of the Willoughby type is worth a ten-acrelot full of these two-by-four titles. The Willoughbys were goodpeople--the kind of people one likes to meet in Michigan. But when theladies of the foreign colony came to call on "Ma" and said "Dyuh me!"and looked at her through their lorgnettes, she was like a staid oldPlymouth Rock hen who suddenly finds herself among the birds ofparadise. She told Mr. Willoughby that it was the queerest lot of"women folks" she had ever seen, and although she didn't like to talkabout people until she knew her ground, some of them did not seem anymore respectable than the law allowed. Poor Mrs. Willoughby! She didnot know it was good form for a woman to smoke and drink, but bad formfor her to be interested in her husband. She tried to apply a Michigantraining to Gallivancia conditions, and the two didn't seem to jibe.

  "_D'yuh me!_"]

  If Mrs. Willoughby amused the women, Mr. Willoughby more than amusedthe men. He upset them and left them gasping.

  The Acting Consul had used a small office adjoining his own place ofbusiness on the water front. Mr. Willoughby called on the formerconsul and found him to be a dignified Britisher of the gloomy andreticent sort, with a moustache shaped like a horseshoe. The dethronedofficial was courteous, but not cordial. He was saying good-by to someeasy money, and the situation was not one calculated to promote goodcheer. Mr. Willoughby's action in coming down and pulling theConsulate from underneath him seemed to him almost unfriendly.However, he formally turned over to Mr. Willoughby a table, fourchairs, several account books, and a letter press, all being theproperty of the United States of America.

  Mr. Willoughby had rented a house on the hill overlooking the town anddecided to plant the Consulate in the front room of his residence.Inasmuch as the Consul had a business caller about once a month, therewas no need of maintaining two establishments. Already he had takeninto his employ and his warmest personal friendship a native namedFranciotto. This name seemed formal and hard to remember, so Mr.Willoughby rechristened him "Jim." He liked this native in spite ofhis colour because he was the only man in Gallivancia who seemed to bepervaded by the simple spirit of democracy. Mr. Willoughby said thatthe others put on too many "dam-lugs"--whatever that may mean.

  If U.S. Consul Willoughby's social standing in Gallivancia was at allsubject to doubt that doubt vanished on the day when he and "Jim" camedown to move the office effects to the house on the hill.

  Mr. Willoughby did something that day which convulsed Gallivancia as itnever had been convulsed before--not even when a neighbouring volcanoblew off. For days afterward the official set, the men at the littleclub, and the women pouring tea at each other, talked of nothing else.Many would not believe when they first heard it, but there werewitnesses--reliable witnesses--who saw the whole thing and were calledupon time and time again to testify regarding the most extraordinaryperformance of the United States Consul. Other Consuls may come and goand the years spin their weary lengths and the obliterating drift oftime may hide some of the lesser events in the history of Gallivancia,but until time shall be no more the residents of that city will tellthe story of "Old Man" Willoughby, of Michigan.

  What do you suppose he did? No effort of the imagination can carry youwithin hailing distance of the horrible truth, so let the suspense beended. Mr. Willoughby, with his own hands, helped to move thefurniture from the old Consulate up to his new residence. He put thetable on top of his head and balanced it carefully and carried itthrough the open streets of Gallivancia! An official, a representativeof a great Power, performing cheap manual labour!

  _What do you suppose he did?_]

  Words are altogether inadequate to describe the degree of obloquy whichMr. Willoughby earned for himself by this unheard-of exhibition. InGallivancia it was not considered quite the thing to indulge in mentaleffort, and for anyone except a menial of the lowest social order toperform physical labour was almost inconceivable. The new consul wasset down as either a harmless imbecile or an altogether new specimen ofbarbarian. In either case he was not a fit associate for well-bredgentlemen, and Gallivancia proceeded to ignore him and "Ma." That is,they pretended to ignore them, but as a matter of fact, they watchedthem at a distance and heard daily reports of their familiarities withservants, their fondness for outlandish American cookery, and othereccentricities. It was all vastly diverting to the tiny aristocrats ofGallivancia, but it was pretty hard on Mr. and Mrs.Willoughby--homesick, hungry for spring chicken and garden truck, andyet ashamed to pick up and go home so soon after all those elaborategood-bys.

  One morning Mr. Willoughby walked out on the veranda of his hillsidecottage and looked across the harbour and saw something that smote himwith an overpowering joy. A white cruiser, flying the Stars andStripes, had steamed through the narrow entrance and was bearing downto an anchorage.

  "Come here, mother!" he shouted. "Come here, if you want to seesomething that's good for sore eyes!"

  Mrs. Willoughby came running, and nearly careened with happiness.There it was, an American war vessel, with real Yankees on board--boysfrom home; boys who had been brought up to believe that a man'scharacter and his abilities give him a worth which cannot be altered byputting a mere handle to his name. Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby were eagerto go down and call on the "folks from home." After the prolongedboycott which had been hanging over them they were pining for whitesociety.

  Mr. Willoughby put on his long black coat and Mrs. Willoughby got outher flowered bonnet and together they went down to the waterfront--walked instead of going as they should have gone, in one of thedecrepit local hacks. Before they could charter a humble rowboat andgo out to the ship the Governor General and the Lord High Commander ofthe Scow and the Imperial Collector of Customs and all the otherresidents of real importance had gone out in a launch and taken chargeof the naval officers. Dinner parties and a ball at the "Palace" werearranged at once. The servant at the club hurried out and got anotherbottle of Scotch whiskey, and the town band began to mobilise at acafe. Gallivancia had no use for a humble American of the Willoughbytype, but it gave hysterical welcome to the splendid war vessel and thenatty men in uniform. Over the first drink the Americans were told theremarkable story of the new Consul and were assured that he was a"queer sort." And the naval officers, being accustomed to hearingUnited States consuls maligned, took no further interest in theirgovernment's representative; merely shook hands with him when he cameaboard, told him to make himself at home, and then flocked away to thehigh lights and the gayety which had been provided for them by thecourt circles of Gallivancia.

  Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby found themselves sidetracked, and they wentback home not daring to talk about what had happened. But that was theday which caused them to decide to go back to Michigan. Mr. Willoughbywrote to the State Department and said that the climate did not agreewith him. And when they sailed away "Jim" was the only person who cameto the dock to bid them good-by.

  As the "Ex-Consul to Gallivancia" Mr. Willoughby is more than ever anhonoured figure in his own town. Doubtless he has more gray matter,more Christian charity, and more horse sense than could be collectivelyassembled by all the petty officials at Gallivancia. And yetGallivancia regarded him as a very poor excuse for a Consul. The navalofficers saw in him a well-meaning "jay" who was bringing discredit ontheir native land because of his ignorance of social forms.

  Therefore let us send out Consuls who can put up a "front." Have eachConsul wear the uniform of a drum major. Make sure that he can danceall night, play bridge, and keep up with the naval crowd when it comesto drinking. Let him be haughty with the serving classes, but jovialwith the military. Make sure that he is averse to all forms of labour.Such a Consul will shed glory upon our beloved country, and will neversuffer the unhappy fate of "Old Man" Willoughby.

  IN NAPLES