"Bah! he married one of his own race, if I know how to calculate."
"There, Jim, don't be a fool! If she's got any negro blood in her veins she's a nigger, and all your talk won't make her anything else."
"I say, Captain, I've heard that some of your ancestors were Indians: is that so?"
"Yes: my great-grandmother was an Indian chief's daughter,—so they say; and you might as well claim royalty when you have the chance."
"Bless me! your great-grandmother, eh? Come, now, what do you call yourself,—an Injun?"
"No, I don't. I call myself an Anglo-Saxon."
"What, not call yourself an Injun,—when your great-grandmother was one? Here's a pretty go!"
"Nonsense! 'tisn't likely that filtered Indian blood can take precedence and mastery of all the Anglo-Saxon material it's run through since then."
"Hurray! now you've said it. Lookee here, Captain. You say the Anglo-Saxon's the master race of the world."
"Of course I do."