My good neighbor, Mrs. Alfred Noggins, who came out to Canada from London before the war, has recently returned from a visit to her distant cousin in Seattle. While Mrs. Noggins' views are hardly official, they may serve to introduce by easy stages the rather formidable subject of the next chapter.
"Well," said Mrs. Noggins, boarding my car at the end of the road and depositing her usual basket of eggs and two dead ducks on the front seat beside me, "Well, you know, the 'ole thing is a complete surprise. The Americans, I mean. Why, bless you, I'd 'eard such stories about them! Uncle ' Erbert at 'ome -- and 'im an alderman in Liverpool -- used to say the Americans were a very queer lot because they 'ad up and left the family, along of George the third, you know. Poor Uncle ' Erbert drunk 'imself to death, worryin' about the sewers in Liverpool, and I will say that if the Americans was leavin' 'is family they didn't make any mistake, but I never said that to 'im.
"From wot I'd seen of the Americans in the movies, I must say I was a bit afraid of 'em, goin' across the border for the first time. I really 'ad 'alf an idear they shot each other up all the time, with revolvers 'idden in every drawer and be'ind the radio. And besides, the luxury of 'em! Enough to turn a poor body's 'ead! Why, you'd think to see 'em, in the movies they lived in tiled bathrooms and took a barth every mornin'. Not that I'm against it, and since we got the barth tub hinstalled -- it'd bin layin' in the basement for three years and our bulldog, 'Orace, sleepin' in it -- well, since then, I do like to 'ave