The machines were out of sight before we could realize that we were
safe. I expected an explosion from J. P. Nothing of the kind! He acted
then, as I always saw him act when there was any actual danger or real
trouble of any kind, with perfect calmness and self-possession.
The intolerable nervous strain of these walks on the hillside was
accompanied by a mental strain almost as distressing. It would have been
bad enough if one's only responsibility had been to keep Mr. Pulitzer
from being crushed against the hillside, or being run over; but this was
only half the problem. The other half was to keep up a continual stream
of conversation--not light, airy nothings, but a solid body of carefully
prepared facts--in a tone of voice which should fail to convey to J. P.
the slightest indication of your nervousness.
When we walked on the plage at Mentone, the difficulties were of another
kind. Here there was always more or less of a crowd, and as the paved
promenade was narrow, and as very few people had the intelligence to
realize that the tall, striking figure leaning on his companion's arm
was that of a blind man, and as fewer still had the courtesy to step
aside if they did realize it, our walk was a constant dodging in and out
among curious gazers interested in staring at the gaunt, impressive
invalid with the large black spectacles.
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