All was of no effect
till the solitary of the back seat rose in his place and shouted to the
frightened creature in choice American: "What d' you mean, there? Come
on! Come on, you fool!" Then, as if it had been an "impenitent mule" in
some far-distant Far-Western incarnation, this Eoman cab-horse
recognized the voice of authority; it nerved itself against the
imaginary danger, and came steadily forward; our agent regained his
place, and we moved shriekingly on to the next object of interest. It
was not quite the note blown from level tubes of brass in the progress
of a conqueror, but we did not lack the cheers of a disinterested
populace, which at several points impartially applauded our orator's
French and German versions of his not always tacit Italian.
Our height above the cheers helped preserve us from the sense of
anything ironical in them, and there was an advantage in the outlook
from our elevation which the wayfarer in cab or on foot can only
imagine. No such wayfarer can realize the vast scope and compass of our
excursion, which was but one of two excursions made on alternate
afternoons by the Touring-Rome wagons.
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