"I think I shall spend more time in America after this," remarked Eighteen Eighty. "I did not know that amusing things ever happened over here. What did you say the name of this state is?"
"The name of this state," replied Miss Dangerfield, "is North Carolina, and I have my opinion of any native American who runs around Europe all the time, and who can visit a place in this country without even knowing the name of the state he is in."
"But there's really no difference between North and South Carolina, is there?" persisted Eighteen Eighty.
Jerry put down her fork, and folded her hands beside her plate, while she addressed the offender.
"Mr. Number Something, the difference between the Old North State and South Carolina is not merely geographical—it is also intellectual, ethical and spiritual. But may I ask you whether you know of which state you are a citizen?"
A laugh rose as the sad young man flushed and looked inquiringly about.
"I voted you in my precinct that time I ran for alderman in New York," said Ardmore, "but that's no sign you had a right to vote there. I shot Ballywinkle through the booth at the same time. I was a reform candidate and needed votes, but I hoped Bally would get arrested and be sent to jail. My impression is that you are really a citizen of Rhode Island, which is where Newport is."
The debate as to Eighteen Eighty's legal residence was interrupted by the arrival of a summons for Ardmore, who hurriedly left the table.
Big Paul awaited him below, mounted and holding a led-horse.
"There's a line of the South Carolina militia crawling through the woods toward Raccoon Creek. They insist that it's a practice skirmish and that they've come over here because the landscape is naturally adapted to their purposes."