“Jest set you down there again; there's a point I 'd like to be cleared up about I 'm sure you 'll not refuse me. Jest set down.”
Ogden resumed his seat, although with an air and manner of no small disinclination.
“No wine, thank you. Excuse me,” said he, stiffly, as Quackinboss tried to fill his glass.
“You remarked awhile ago,” said Quackinboss, slowly, and like a man weighing all his words, “that I was an American born. Now, sir, it ain't a very likely thing that any man who was ever raised in the States is goin' to deny it. It ain't, I say, very probable as he 'd say I'm a Chinese, or a Mexican, or a Spaniard; no, nor a Britisher. Whatever we do in this life, stranger, one thing, I suppose, is pretty certain,—we don't say the worst of ourselves. Ain't that your platform, sir?”
“I agree to the general principle.”
“Agreein', then, to the gen'ral principle, here's where we go next, for I ain't a-goin' to let you off, Britisher; I 've got a harpoon in you now, and I 'll tow you after me into shoal water; see if I don't. Agreein', as we say, to the gen'ral principle, that no man likes to make his face blacker than it need be, what good could it do me to say that I wasn't born a free citizen of the freest country of the universe?”
“I am really at a loss to see how I am interested in this matter. I have not, besides, that perfect leisure abstract discussion requires. You will forgive me if I take my leave.” He moved hastily towards the door as he spoke, followed by Quackinboss, whose voice had now assumed the full tones and the swelling modulations of public oratory.
“That great land, sanctified by the blood of the pilgrim fathers, and whose proudest boast it is that from the first day, when the star-spangled banner of Freedom dallied with the wind and scorned the sun, waving its barred folds over the heads of routed enemies,—to that glorious consummation, when, from the rugged plains of New England to the golden groves of Florida—”
“Good-bye, sir,—good-evening,” said Ogden, passing out and gaining the landing-place.
“—One universal shout, floating over the Atlantic waters, proclaimed to the Old World that the 'Young' was alive and kickin'—”