VIII
“I thought I'd come early,” Jack explained, as he stood before the wood-fire in a man-of-the-world attitude: “I knew that when the crowd began there'd be no chance for me.”
“I'm delighted you came early,” said Ruth. “Won't you sit down?”
Jack sat down. He plunged at once into the subject which was on his mind.
“It's all nonsense, this talk about a Republic,” he began. “We'd have been much better off if we'd stuck to England. Oh, we mightn't have been so rich,” he made a large gesture, “but we'd have been nicer.”
“Jack, these sentiments on the New Year for a child of Liberty, a son of the Revolution!” Ruth reproved.
“It's not my fault, Miss Adgate, if I'm a son of the Revolution, and I don't believe in Liberty. I wish my double great-grandfather hadn't come over here and married my double great-grandmother.” Master Jack stuck his hands doggedly in his pockets and glowered at the fire.
“Oh, cheer up,” laughed his young hostess. “Accept the inevitable, Jack, make the best of it! But what can have happened to-day to make you think ill of Liberty and the Revolution?”
“It's very well for you to sit there, Miss Adgate, sit and poke fun at me in your soft voice and your beautiful gown,” Jack said, flushing. “But you know as I do, that this—this country—is rotten—it's going to the dogs, nothing'll save it!”
“My dear Jack,” accused Ruth, “you've been reading the newspapers!” Miss Adgate never would, for her part, so much as look at an American newspaper; she got all her news by way of England, in the Morning Post.