"Look a here, you feller—I don't care the value of a butnut-shell how many names you've got; we don't own no Counts in this ere free land of liberty, but them that can count down the most hard chink, and they have to work tarnation hard afore they git the title, I can tell you. As for your noblemen, we have raised a new-fashioned sort of 'em in this land of liberty. In the Revolutionary War a hull grist on 'em sot their titles down on our glorious Declaration of Independence, and there they'll stay, as bright as the stars, to all etarnity, and a day longer. We don't ask our noblemen who their fathers were, or how they got a living. Great deeds and—what's the same thing—good deeds make noblemen here. Every man has to work out his own title and when he dies, instid of leaving it to some booby of a son, he writes his date out in the history of his country, and takes it back to him who gave the power to arn it. As for any other noblemen—though I believe arter all that the true ginuine lords and counts that come out here are as scarce as hen's teeth—" (here the count didn't seem to stand easy,) "we true Americans, rale full-blooded Yankees, don't care any more for their titles than we do for the stuns under our feet. It's only your half-blooded Americans that have been baked over in Europe, and our silly finefied gals that chase after you. An honest straight for'ard Yankee gal would take you for jest what you are worth as men, and when they du that, I rather guess we can pull an even yoke with any of you that come from t'other side the water."
Here I gave Miss Miles a squint that made her wilt like a broken rose in the hot sun! "Mr. Slick," sez she, eenamost crying, "I beg, I entreat, let us walk on. See how the people are remarking us."
"Wal," sez I, sort of mollified, "I aint doing nothing to be ashamed on, am I?"
"Oh, no," sez she, "I didn't mean to say that."
"Wal, there aint nothing on arth that I wont du to oblige a harnsome critter like you," sez I, a going round to the other side on her. She gave me another of her prime smiles, and that seemed to pacify me. So we all three walked along together till we got agin the Astor House once more. The Count looked as sour as a vinegar barrel—I suppose, because I was detarmined to hang on, but I kept a stiff upper lip, and marched down the stun walk as straight as a bean pole stuck up on eend. Miss Miles begun to smile agin, and she talked to him as sweet as could be, but I couldn't make out a word she said, for she didn't speak rale American, but every now and then, jest as I was beginning to get rily about it, she would turn her face to me, and pucker up her mouth so coaxing, that somehow I couldn't git right down wrathy if I tried ever so much.
When the Count saw that I wasn't to be scared away, he jest give me a good long stare right in the eyes, and then bending a little for'ard to Miss Miles, he lifted his hat about an inch from his head and went into the Astor House. I don't know what on arth could be the matter, but the minit he left us I begun to feel as sheepish as could be. I didn't know what in nature to talk about—so I jest took my red silk handkercher and gave it a flirt out of my pocket, and then put it back agin.
"Do you like the smell of essence of peppermint, Miss Miles?" sez I.
"I'm very fond of perfume," sez she.
"I hope you didn't like the stuff that are Count had on his handkercher," sez I. "I swanny, it eenamost made me sick; he smelt more like a musk-rat than anything else."
"You can't expect every body to have your taste in selecting perfumes for his toilet, Mr. Slick," sez she, a puckering up her mouth till it looked like a red clover top full of honey.