"No more England for mine," the American snapped,
good-humoredly. "I'm going to get out of this foggy hole and
get back to God's country just as soon as I can. I want to find
out what's doing at the store, and I want to sit down to a plate
of flapjacks. I'm good and plenty sick of tea and marmalade. Why,
I wouldn't take this fool country for a gift. No, sir! Me for
God's country--Sleepy Eye, Brown County, Minnesota. You bet!"
"You don't like England much, then?" Mr. Wrenn carefully reasoned.
"Like it? Like this damp crowded hole, where they can't talk
English, and have a fool coinage--Say, that's a great system,
that metric system they've got over in France, but here--why,
they don't know whether Kansas City is in Kansas or Missouri or
both.... `Right as rain'--that's what a fellow said to me for
`all right'! Ever hear such nonsense?.... And tea for breakfast!
Not for me! No, sir! I'm going to take the first steamer!"
With a gigantic smoke-puff of disgust the man from Sleepy Eye
stalked out, jingling the keys in his trousers pocket, cocking
up his cigar, and looking as though he owned the restaurant.
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