I can't help it. It's this old Europe.
It's the climate that makes them come out. In America they
didn't come out. It's these hotels."
Winterbourne was much amused. "If you eat three lumps of sugar,
your mother will certainly slap you," he said.
"She's got to give me some candy, then," rejoined his young interlocutor.
"I can't get any candy here--any American candy. American candy's
the best candy."
"And are American little boys the best little boys?" asked Winterbourne.
"I don't know. I'm an American boy," said the child.
"I see you are one of the best!" laughed Winterbourne.
"Are you an American man?" pursued this vivacious infant.
And then, on Winterbourne's affirmative reply--"American men
are the best," he declared.
His companion thanked him for the compliment, and the child,
who had now got astride of his alpenstock, stood looking
about him, while he attacked a second lump of sugar.
Winterbourne wondered if he himself had been like this in his infancy,
for he had been brought to Europe at about this age.
"Here comes my sister!" cried the child in a moment.
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