“You always were the most sympathetic listener,” he exclaimed. “Fancy my talking to any one else like this! I do believe my tongue has been wagging for two hours.”
“I don’t wonder you love sport. I should, too. It was a mere name to me before. The boys go fishing once a year; they camp out in this forest; and, occasionally, they go duck or snipe shooting, or kill a few quail; but I never heard even the expression ‘big game’ except from you.”
“And with grizzlies and pumas—fancy! What are the men thinking of?”
“Of course there are lots of old mountaineers and trappers who have shot more bears and things than they can count; but even those of our men that are not chasing the mighty dollar don’t seem to take to sport.”
“It’s not a tradition with them. It will come with more leisure, more Englishmen, and the inevitable imitation of ourselves in that and in other things. They hate us, but the tail of their eye is always on England’s big finger writing on the wall. The Eastern men copy our accent, our clothes, our customs. The New Yorkers are already good sportsmen, and they owe it to us that they are. They began with a spirit that did them little credit, but they are twice the men they would be otherwise—this generation of them, I mean. I am given to understand that, in its mad rush for money, the race has deteriorated since the Civil War. Your Californians are slower, because they are on the edge of the world, and customs take longer to reach them; but one day some idle young blood will spend a year in England, then come back and make sport the fashion, and the next generation will be men with healthy bodies and healthy minds.”
“And better manners! I am so glad you are not going to hustle for money. I hate the loathsome stuff—except to have it; it has so much to answer for. I should think the race has deteriorated. Look at the Southerners! Look at Randolph! The only picture Mrs. Montgomery has of her husband was taken when he had been out here twenty years, and then his face had become very sharp and keen; but his father and grandfather were most aristocratic-looking men—full of fire, but with a repose as fine as yours. And Randolph was a most courtly boy; it is doubtful if you think him a gentleman.”
“Oh, yes, yes! The American armour fairly rattles on him, and when he’s old he’ll look like the American eagle; but I feel jolly sure that when it came to the point, he’d never do anything unworthy of a gentleman.”
“Not even to get a woman?”
“All’s fair in love; but he would never do anything tricky or vulgar.”
“Once he wouldn’t; but he has been rubbing elbows with dishonest and common men for so many years. His standards are lowered; I can see the change from year to year.”