Give me an Englishman and an Irishwoman, and let
all the rest of the world go hang!--I've travelled, Piers, my boy.
I've seen what the great British race is doing the world round; and
I'm that proud of it I can't find words to express myself."
"I've seen something of other races," interposed Piers, lifting his
glass with unsteady hand, "and I don't think we've any right to
despise them."
"I don't exactly despise them, but I say, What are they compared
with us? A poor lot! A shabby lot!--I'm a journalist, Piers, and
let me tell you that we English newspaper men have the destiny of
the world in our hands. It makes me proud when I think of it. We
guard the national honour. Let any confounded foreigner insult
England, and he has to reckon with _us_. A word from _us_, and it
means war, Piers, glorious war, with triumphs for the race and for
civilisation! England means civilisation; the other nations don't
count."
"Oh, come----"
"I tell you they don't count!" roared Alexander, his hair wild and
his beard ferocious. "You're not one of the muffs who want to keep
England little and tame, are you?"
"I think pretty much with father about these things."
"The old man! Oh, I'd forgotten the old man. But he's not of our
time, Piers; he's old-fashioned, though a good old man, I admit. No,
no; we must be armed and triple-armed; we must be so strong that not
all the confounded foreigners leagued together can touch us.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97