“‘Wisha, for the love of St. Crispin,’ ses the whale ‘have they society columns in the American newspapers?’
“‘Indeed they have,’ ses the grasshopper, ‘and they oftentimes devote a few columns to other matters when the dressmakers don’t be busy.’
“‘America is a strange country surely, a wonderful country, not to say a word about the length and breadth of it. I swam around it twice last week without stoppin,’ to try an’ reduce me weight, an’ would you believe me that I was tired after the journey, but the change of air only added to me proportions.’
“‘That’s too bad,’ said the grasshopper.
“‘Are you an American?’ said the whale.
“‘Of course I am,’ ses the grasshopper. ‘You don’t think ’tis the way I’d be born at sea an’ no nationality at all like yourself. I’m proud of me country.’
“‘And why, might I ask?’
“‘Well don’t we produce distinguished Irishmen? Don’t we make Americans of the Europeans and Europeans of the Americans? Think of all the connoisseurs who wouldn’t buy a work of art in their own country when they could go to Europe and pay ten times its value for the pot-boilers that does be turned out in the studios of Paris and London.’
“‘There’s nothin’ like home industry,’ ses the whale, ‘in a foreign country, I mean.’
“‘After all, who knows anything about a work of art but the artist? and very little he knows about it, either. A work of art is like a flower, it grows, it happens. That’s all. An’ unless you charge the devil’s own price for it, people will think you are cheating them.’