"Oh, yes, I know. But the essence of the affair is that an Irish family named O'Ryan have, for several generations, merely been visiting in Chili. Now one of 'em's in Switzerland as close to the big shindy as he can get without getting into it. And, the question is this: how long before he pulls a brick and starts in?"
"Chili is neutral——"
"Ireland isn't. Sinn Fein or Fusiliers—which, Michael?"
"Don't talk nonsense," said I, virtuously. "I'm no fighter. There's no violence in me. If I saw a fight I'd walk the other way. There's none of that kind of Irish blood in me."
"No. And all your family in the army or navy. And you practically a Yankee——"
I stared at him and whistled the Chilean anthem.
"That's my reply," said I. "Yours is:
"My girl's a corker,
She's a New Yorker——"
"What piffle you talk, you poor prune," said this typical Norwegian.
So we filled our glasses to our respective countries, and another round to that jolly flag which bears more stars and stripes than the Chilean ensign.