“There are no patriots among those who soar above the miserable limits of a nationality. Genius has no concern with geographies. To think for the million you must forget the man.”
“Say that again. I like the sound of that,” cried Joe, admiringly.
“If anything could illustrate the hopelessness of your class and condition in life,” continued O'Shea, “it is yourself. There you are, daily, hourly associating with one whose sentiments you hear, whose opinions you learn, whose judgments you record; one eagerly sought after in society, revered in private, honored in the Senate; and what have you derived from these unparalleled advantages? What can you say has been the benefit from these relations?”
“It's hard to say,” muttered Joe, “except, maybe, it's made me a philosopher.”
“A philosopher!—you a philosopher!”
“Ay; isn't it philosophy to live without wages, and work without pay? 'Tis from yourself I heerd that the finest thing of all is to despise money.”
“So it is,—so it would be, I mean, if society had not built up that flimsy card edifice it calls civilization. Put out my blue pelisse with the Astrachan collar, and my braided vest; I shall want to go over to the Villa this morning. But, first of all, take this to the telegraph-office: 'The O'Shea accepts.'”
“Tear and ages! what is it we've got?” asked Joe, eagerly.
“'The O'Shea accepts,'—four words if they charge for the 'O.' Let me know the cost at once.”
“But why don't you tell me where we're going? Is it Jamaica or Jerusalem?”