“A,” said Edward obediently, “I want to come with you to Yosemite. In fact, Rhoda, please, I must come with you to Yosemite.”
“Dear Edward, why can’t you go when and where you’re wanted? Why do you have to do things so damned intensely and unlike other folks?”
“I’m never wanted.”
“Shucks.”
“The Britisher,” said Mr. Bird, “always has to try and act unlike other folks—that’s the only way he can remind us crude Colonials of his superiority. The Britisher is like a bull moose in carpet slippers sneezing at a poppy——”
“The American,” said Edward, mildly aroused, “takes a good deal of trouble to be eccentric too. Look at all these Cults and what not.... As a Britisher I should say that eccentric Britishers are fantastic; eccentric Americans are grotesque....”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, Edward Williams,” exclaimed Rhoda, “what’s eating you? You didn’t invent that dope. You stole it some place. Who’s been injecting aphorisms into you?”
“Emily,” replied Edward honestly. “She said it on the Ferry.”
This suggestion of criticism by two aliens at once caught Mr. Bird’s attention. “The Britisher,” he said, “is the most complacent creature on God’s earth——”
“Poor thing,” interrupted Rhoda, who, having been born in the United States, was not obliged to be so ecstatically American as was Mr. Bird, who originally came from Odessa. “In the presence of God’s own countrymen he just has to keep his end up some way. Do you like your fried eggs straight up or turned, British biped? Well, pass on to B.”