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122 MY TRIP ABROAD for me to try to remember names. There are herrs, frau- leins, and fraus galore and I find it hard to keep even their sex salutations correct. Some one is making a long, formal speech in German, and everybody is watching him at- tentively. The host arises and offers a toast to his bride-to-be. Everyone rises and drinks to their happiness. The party is very formal and I can make nothing from the talk going on all about me. The host is talking and then all get up again with their glasses. Why, I don't know, but I get up with them. At this there is general laughter, and I wonder what calamity has befallen me. I wonder if my clothes are all right. Then I understand. The host is about to toast me. He does it in very bad English, though his gestures and tone make it most graceful. He is inclined to be somewhat pedantic and whenever he cannot think of the proper Eng- lish word he uses its German equivalent. As the various courses come the toasts are many. I am always about two bites late in getting to my feet with my glass. After I have been toasted about four times, Mrs. Kaufman leans over and whispers, "You should toast back again to the host and say something nice about his bride- to-be." I am almost gagged with the stage fright that grips me. If is the custom to toast back to the host and here I have been gulping down all kinds of toasts without a word. And he had been sitting there waiting for me. I rise and hesitate. "Mr.—" I feel a kick on the shins and I hear Mrs. Kaufman whisper hoarsely: "Herr." I think she means the bride-to-be. "Mrs.—" No, she isn't that yet. Heavens! this is terrible. I plunge in fast and furious. "My very best respects to your future wife." As I speak I look at a young girl at the