“Yes you are, Dot.”
“I’m all American. I haven’t a feeling that isn’t all American. Doesn’t that make me an American, Peter, no matter where I was born?”
“I think you are an American under the law.”
“Am I really?” said Leonore, incredulously.
“Yes. You were born of American parents, and you will be living in this country when you become of age. That constitutes nationality.”
“Oh, how lovely! I knew I was an American, really, but papa was always teasing me and saying I was a foreigner. I hate foreigners.”
“Confound you, chum, you’ve spoiled one of my best jokes! It’s been such fun to see Dot bristle when I teased her. She’s the hottest little patriot that ever lived.”
“I think Miss D’Alloi’s nationality is akin to that of a case of which I once heard,” said Peter, smiling. “A man was bragging about the number of famous men who were born in his native town. He mentioned a well-known personage, among others, and one of his auditors said: ‘I didn’t know he was born there,’ ‘Oh, yes, he was,’ replied the man. ‘He was born there, but during the temporary absence of his parents!’”
“Peter, how much does a written opinion cost?” asked Leonore, eagerly.
“It has a range about equal to the woman’s statement that a certain object was as long as a piece of string.”