"You're
nothing if you're not thorough, Bab! Well, as they have hung an
hour and fifteen minutes to long as it is, I guess the Country
won't go to the dogs if you shut that window until I get a shirt
on. Go away and send Williarm up in ten minutes."
"Father," I demanded, intencely, "do you consider yourself
a Patriot?"
"Well," he said, "I'm not the shouting tipe, but I guess
I'll be around if I'm needed. Unless I die of the chill I'm
getting just now, owing to one shouting Patriot in the Familey."
"Is this your Country or William's?" I insisted, in an
inflexable voice.
"Oh, come now," he said, "we can divide it, William and I.
There's enough for both. I'm not selfish."
It is always thus in my Familey. They joke about the most
serious things, and then get terrably serious about nothing at
all, such as overshoes on wet days, or not passing in French
grammer, or having a friend of the Other Sex, etcetera.
"There are to many houses in this country, father," I said,
folding my arms, "where the Patriotism of the Inhabatants is
shown by having a paid employee hang out and take in the Emblem
between Cocktails and salid, so to speak.
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