“Why, Colonel, what a question! I invite the Crickets? No, indeed.”
“And shall you ask the Locusts or the Grasshoppers?”
“Certainly. The Locusts, of course—a very old and fine family, and the Grasshoppers are pretty well, and ought to be asked. But one must draw the line somewhere—and the Crickets! Why, I can’t think of them.”
“I thought they were very nice, respectable people,” said the colonel.
“Oh, perfectly nice and respectable,—but——”
“Do explain, my dear Katy.”
“Why, their colour, to be sure. Don’t you see?”
“Oh!” said the colonel. “That’s it, is it? And tell me, please, who decides what colour shall be the reigning colour?”
“What a question! The only true colour—the only proper one—is our colour to be sure. A lovely pea green is the shade on which to found an aristocratic distinction. Of course, we are liberal; we associate with the Moths, who are gray; with the Butterflies, who are blue and gold coloured; with the Grasshoppers, yellow and brown; and society would become dreadfully mixed if it were not fortunately ordered that the Crickets are as black as jet. The fact is that a class to be looked down upon is necessary to all elegant society, and if the Crickets were not black we could not keep them down. Everybody knows they are often a great deal cleverer than we are. They have a vast talent for music and dancing; they are very quick at learning, and would be getting to the very top of the ladder if we allowed them to climb. Now, so long as we are green and they are black, we have a superiority that can never be taken from us. Don’t you see now?”
“Oh, yes, I see exactly,” said the colonel. “Now that Keziah Cricket, who just came in here, is quite a musician, and her old father plays the violin beautifully; by the way, we might engage him for our orchestra.”