“Your home an' holdings are three hundred safe miles from the seacoast,” objected the man from Manhattan.
“Yes, and right next Canada,” was the reply.
“The continued insults to our flag, sir, and the personal indignities offered to our people are even worse than the actual loss in ships and goods. It makes my blood fairly boil,” and the worthy general looked the part as his purple jowl quivered over his white cravat.
“Gosh all hemlock! the one pricks, but t'other festers, it's tarnal sure you steal a man's dinner and tell him he's one o' nature's noblemen, he's more apt to love you than if you give him five dollars to keep out o' your sight,” said Sylvanne, with slow emphasis.
“There's something to be said on the other side,” said the timid one. “You surely allow that the British government is trying to do right, and after all we must admit that that Jilson affair resected very little credit on our own administration.”
“A man ken make one awful big mistake an' still be all right, but he can't go on making a little mistake every day right along an' be fit company for a clean crowd,” retorted the new senator.
At length the governor rose and led the way to the drawing-room, where they rejoined the ladies and the conversation took on a different colour and weight, by which it lost all value for those who knew not the art of twittering persiflage and found less joy in a handkerchief flirtation than in the nation's onward march. Rolf and Quonab enjoyed it now about as much as Skookum had done all the time.
Chapter 65. The Grebes and the Singing Mouse
Quonab puzzled long over the amazing fact that young Van Cortlandt had evident high standing “in his own tribe.” “He must be a wise counsellor, for I know he cannot fight and is a fool at hunting,” was the ultimate decision.