It was plain that he had a withering
rejoinder ready for sabbatarians, and he waited anxiously, balanced on
one foot, for an expression of shocked opinion. It was after we had
passed Mont Valerien, frowning on the horizon, that the man in the pink
cotton shirt began to grow restive under so much instruction. He told
the serious person that his name was Hinkson of Iowa, and the serious
person was induced to reply that his was Pabbley of Simcoe, Ontario. It
was insubordination--the guide was talking about the shelling from Mont
Valerien at the time, with the most patriotic dislocations in his
grammar.
"You understan', you see?" he concluded. "Now those two genelmen, they
_don'_ understan', and they _don'_ see. An' when they get back to the
United States they won' be able to tell their wives an' sweethearts
anythin' about Mont Valerien! All right, genelmen--please yourselves.
_Mais_ you please remember I am just like William Shekspeare--I give no
_repetition_!"
It was then that the serious man demonstrated that Britons, even the
North American kind, never, never would be slaves.
Pages:
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90