“I am,” said Flora Schuyler. “I have seen a man who commands one’s approbation—and an American.”
Clavering laughed. “Then, they’re not always quite the same thing?”
“No,” Flora Schuyler said coldly. “That was one of the pleasant fancies I had to give up a long time ago.”
“I would like a definition of the perfected American,” said Clavering.
Miss Schuyler yawned. “Can’t you tell him, Hetty? I once heard you talk quite eloquently on that subject.”
“I’ll try,” said Hetty. “It’s the man who wants to give his country something, and not get the most he can out of it. The one who goes round planting seeds that will grow and bear fruit, even if it is long after he is there to eat it. No country has much use for the man who only wants to reap.”
Clavering assented, but there was a sardonic gleam in his eyes. “Well,” he said reflectively, “there was once a man who planted dragon’s teeth, and you know what kind of crop they yielded him.”
“He knew what he was doing,” said Flora Schuyler. “The trouble is that now few men know a dragon’s tooth when they see it.”
Clavering laughed. “Then the ones who don’t should be stopped right off when they go round planting anything.”