Conversation was, of course, extremely difficult under such
circumstances; and occasionally things were made worse by some stranger
stopping squarely in front of us and addressing Mr. Pulitzer by name,
for he was a notable personage in the place and was well known by sight.
When accosted in this manner, Mr. Pulitzer always showed signs of
extreme nervousness. He would stamp his foot, raise the clenched fist of
his disengaged arm menacingly, and cry, "My God! What's this? What's
this? Tell him to go away. I won't tolerate this intrusion. Tell him
I'll have him arrested."
More than once I had to push a man off the promenade and make faces at
him embodying all that was possible by such means in the way of threats
to do him bodily injury. It was impossible to argue with these impudent
intruders, because anything like an altercation on a public road would
have meant two or three days of misery for Mr. Pulitzer, in consequence
of the excitement and apprehension he would suffer in such an affair. It
was always with a feeling of intense relief that I saw J. P. safely back
at the villa after our walks.
Although Mr. Pulitzer's intellectual interests covered almost every
phase of human life, there was nothing from which he derived more
pleasure than from music.
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