“Not impossible is it that he may have seen you also, Colonel,” broke in Layton.
“Well, sir,” said the other, drawing himself proudly up, “and if he had, what of it? You don't fancy that we are like the Britishers? You don't imagine that when we appear in Eu-rope that every one turns round and whispers, 'That's a gentleman from the United States'? No, sir, it is the remarkable gift of our people to be cosmopolite. We pass for Russian, French, Spanish, or Italian, jest as we like, not from our skill in language, which we do not all possess, so much as a certain easy imitation of the nat-ive that comes nat'ral to us. Even our Western people, sir, with very remarkable features of their own, have this property; and you may put a man from Kentucky down on the Boulevard de Gand to-morrow, and no one will be able to say he warn't a born Frenchman!”
“I certainly have not made that observation hitherto,” said Layton, dryly.
“Possibly not, sir, because your national pride is offended by our never imitating you! No, sir, we never do that!”
“But won't you own that you might find as worthy models in England as in France or Italy?”
“Not for us, sir,—not for us. Besides, we find ourselves at home on the Continent; we don't with you. The Frenchman is never taxing us with every little peculiarity of accent or diction; he 's not always criticising our ways where they differ from his own. Now, your people do, and, do what we may, sir, they will look on us as what the Chinese call 'second chop.' Now, to my thinking, we are first chop, sir, and you are the tea after second watering.”
They were now rapidly approaching the only territory in which an unpleasant feeling was possible between them. Each knew and felt this, and yet, with a sort of national stubbornness, neither liked to be the one to recede first. As for Layton, bound as he was by a debt of deep gratitude to the American, he chafed under the thought of sacrificing even a particle of his country's honor to the accident of his own condition, and with a burning cheek and flashing eye he began,—
“There can be no discussion on the matter. Between England and America there can no more be a question as to supremacy—”
“There, don't say it; stop there,” said Quackinboss, mildly. “Don't let us get warm about it. I may like to sit in a rockin'-chair and smoke my weed in the parlor; you may prefer to read the 'Times' at the drawing-room fire; but if we both agree to go out into the street together, sir, we can whip all cre-ation.”
And he seized Layton's hand, and wrung it with an honest warmth that there was no mistaking.