American humour. Happening to mention that I was surprised at not seeing any real Americans in New York, I was asked what I meant. I explained that I meant pure-blooded Indians. Thereupon my host very soberly told me that I could see them any day at five o'clock, on Broadway, at the corner where now stands the beautiful Flatiron building. He cautioned me to be there at five exactly.
The very first day I was free I went to the designated corner. I arrived at half-past four, and waited there till almost six, without seeing one Indian. Fearing that I had made a mistake in the corner, I went into a shop and, in my broken English, made inquiries. Two or three clerks gathered together and discussed the problem, and then one of them, repressing a smile, said to me: "I am afraid some one has played a joke on you. There are no Indians to be seen anywhere in New York, except in shows."
That evening at school I told the whole story at table, feeling highly indignant, and believing that my hearers would share my indignation. To my amazement every one burst out laughing, and declared it to be the best joke they had heard for a long time. Some of the girls even said they should write home and tell it, because it was so "terribly funny."
Their attitude was a revelation to me. My host had deceived me, and had wasted two hours
