“That's where my sunrise has the call,” said Uncle Larry, complacently.
“What was the merry jest?” was Baby Van Rensselaer's inquiry, the natural result of a feminine curiosity thus artistically excited.
“Well, here it is. I was standing aft, near a patriotic American and a wandering Irishman, and the patriotic American rashly declared that you couldn't see a sunrise like that anywhere in Europe, and this gave the Irishman his chance, and he said, 'Sure ye don't have'm here till we're through with 'em over there.'”
“It is true,” said Dear Jones, thoughtfully, “that they do have some things over there better than we do; for instance, umbrellas.”
“And gowns,” added the Duchess.
“And antiquities.”—this was Uncle Larry's contribution.
“And we do have some things so much better in America!” protested Baby Van Rensselaer, as yet uncorrupted by any worship of the effete monarchies of despotic Europe. “We make lots of things a great deal nicer than you can get them in Europe—especially ice-cream.”
“And pretty girls,” added Dear Jones; but he did not look at her.
“And spooks,” remarked Uncle Larry, casually.
“Spooks?” queried the Duchess.