‘Like—like you, dad?’
‘Wahl, not that exactly—a sorter lower creation altogether. But there’s a lot o’ scientific folks as says that men are descended from Missin’ Links.’
The Colonel rose to his feet and looked out to sea with dilated nostrils.
‘Missin’ Links ... men ... civalisation ... and Colonel’s a Missin’ Link! Why, then....’
‘Go slow, sonny. I on’y said you was a peg higher’n an omary monkey. Jest sit down quiet an’ figure out “anthropoid” with those letters o’ yourn. You’d be mighty small potatoes in a civalised crowd; so you’ve no need to slop over that way.’
The Colonel sat down, obediently, to his letters, and they both worked in silence for some time.
‘Yes,’ continued the American, ‘I shouldn’t wonder ef they was to eleck me a member of some of those larned societies of theirs. They’ll be askin’ me out to champagne dinners, too, no doubt. I shouldn’t wonder now ef I was to be asked to go an’ dine with the Prince of Wales—him I was tellin’ you about; distinguished furriners always go to dine with the Prince o’ Wales.’
‘Take Colonel too, dad?’
‘Whar to, sonny?’
‘The Prince o’ Wales’s.’