The words of Raoul's song kept running in my mind.
"Crack-brain-cripple-arm
You have done a heap of harm—"
And I found myself humming the catchy air as I strolled over my domain with my unwilling companion.
"I like that song," I remarked.
"Of course you would," he said.
"Why?"
"Because you're so bally neutral," he replied ironically.
"I am neutral. All Chileans are. I'm neutral because my country is."
"You're neutral as hell," he retorted with a shrug—"you camouflaged Yankee."
"If I weren't neutral," said I, "I'd not be afraid of admitting it to a New York Viking."