“Yes. That is our national anthem.”
“How long since?” Brock queried coolly.
“Why, always, I suppose.”
Barth bestowed a contemplative stare upon the stranger.
“How very—American!” he observed.
“Of course. We think it is rather characteristic, and are no end proud of it,” Churchill assured him blandly.
Barth sat up, straight and stiff.
“Mr. Churchill, did you ever happen to hear of God Save the King?”
“Queen? Oh, beg pardon! She’s dead, and it is a king now. Yes, I’ve heard of it. What about it?”
“That.” Barth swept his little gray cap towards the dying notes of the final phrase. “Your so-called America is only our God Save the King.”