"Quit knocking your ancestors! You're very lucky
to have ancestors. I wish I had. The Dore family seems to go back
about as far as the presidency of Willard Filmore, and then it kind
of gets discouraged and quite cold. Gee! I'd like to feel that my
great-great-great-grandmother had helped Queen Elizabeth with the
rent. I'm strong for the fine old stately families of England."
"Stately old fiddlesticks!" snapped the earl.
"Did you see his eyes flash then, George? That's what they call
aristocratic rage. It's the fine old spirit of the Marshmoretons
boiling over."
"I noticed it," said George. "Just like lightning."
"It's no use trying to fool us, dadda," said Billie. "You know just
as well as I do that it makes you feel good to think that, every
time you cut yourself with your safety-razor, you bleed blue!"
"A lot of silly nonsense!" grumbled the earl.
"What is?"
"This foolery of titles and aristocracy. Silly fetish-worship!
One man's as good as another. . . ."
"This is the spirit of '76!" said George approvingly.
"Regular I.W.W. stuff," agreed Billie. "Shake hands the President
of the Bolsheviki!"
Lord Marshmoreton ignored the interruption.
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