They ran the gamut of the consular service, beginning with Basel and Marseilles and ending with Frankfurt, Berlin and Paris.

Wherever they were their house was a very home--a kind of Yankee shrine--of visiting Americans and militant Americanism.
Years before he was made consul general--in point of fact when he was plain consul at Marseilles--he ran over to Paris for a lark.

One day he said to me, "A rich old hayseed uncle of mine has come to town.

He has money to burn and he wants to meet you.

I have arranged for us to dine with him at the Anglaise to-night and we are to order the dinner--carte blanche." The rich old uncle to whom I was presented did not have the appearance of a hayseed.