“Stop your Kidding,” he said to the pirate. “I believe my conduct was unsatisfactory to them on several occasions when I bearded the lion in his channel. The English are queer. They made Captain Pierson a baronet for getting defeated.”
“If we had had Paul Jones,” said Lord Nelson, “we would have made him prime minister and buried him in Westminster Abbey. England is the most grateful of all nations.”
“You need not remind me of the ungratefulness of republics,” rejoined Jones. “I have experienced it, though I am not a living example. But, my lord, I wish I had had you pitted against me in the days of ’77; I would dearly have loved to have exchanged shots with you.”
“You are too kind,” drawled Nelson, lifting his monocle to his blind eye. “I really can’t see you in that light.”
“You have an eye single to your own interest,” I said to Nelson; then turning to Jones:
“We have swung around the circle and you haven’t yet told me—”
“We will leave it to Roosevelt,” replied the admiral. “Whether it is John Brown, John Jones or Johnny Craupaud, he will see that the body gets a square deal—box!”
“How about your epitaph? I would suggest: First in war, last in peace, and at present in the hearts of his countrymen, to mark the tomb of the father of the American navy. That epitomizes your whole career.”
“I do not want to usurp Washington’s paternal honors. Of course all epitaphs are written by Mephisto, ‘the father of liars,’ as you know, but if mine were to be truthful, my tomb would bear the simple inscription:
“Pause, stranger, yet weep not,