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Mr. Hubbard gazes squint-eyed at the waiter and sniffs. "Come, now, who knows?" insists Eggy. "These humble people whom you so despise need only an opportunity. Can we afford to shut them out? Don't we need them as much as they need us?" "Mr. Ham," says J. Q., shuttin' his jaws grim, "my motto is, 'America for Americans!" "And mine," says Eggy, facin' him defiant, "is 'Americans for America!"
The sun went low like a scarlet eggy probing the mother-of-pearl lake with a long red line of shadow, until it wasted into grayness and so disappeared. Then home-returning sails became spiritualized, and moved in mist as in a dream foggy lake and sky, as one body, seeming to push in upon the land.
Of course, you're afraid you'll lose your cherished prejudices " "I'm afraid of nothing of the sort," breaks in Mr. Hubbard. "Go on. Have 'em up, if McCabe is willing." "Eh?" says I. "Bring that mob up here?" "Just a few," pleads Eggy, "and for ten minutes only." "It might be sport," suggests Pinckney. "I'll take a chance," says I. "We can disinfect afterwards."
And I want to know what you mean by collectin' such a crowd of steerage junk that my customers can't get in without bein' mobbed? Howled for us to take their pictures, and mentioned your name." "Oh! Pictures!" and Eggy seems to get the key. "Why, I I'd forgotten." "Can you beat that?" says I. "He'd forgotten! Well, they hadn't. But what's the idea, anyway?
On the last of these sylvan occasions I awoke, not with a graceful start, like the story-book ladies, but with a grunt. Sis was digging me in the ribs with her toe. I looked up to see her standing over me, a foaming tumbler of something in her hand. I felt that it was eggy and eyed it disgustedly. "Get up," said she, "you lazy scribbler, and drink this."
"Oh!" says I. "Authoring? Well, there's no law against it, and ink is cheap. Go to it, Eggy! Top floor, first door to your left." And that seems to be the finish of the Ham incident. All was peaceful in the light shaft, no squeaky high C's, no tump-tump-tump on the piano: just the faint tinkle of a typewriter bell now and then to remind us that Eggy was still there.
"Rot!" snorts J. Q. "These are all the mushy theories of sentimentalists. What else are these foreigners good for?" "Ah, there you get to it!" says Eggy. "Aren't they too valuable to be ground up in your dusty mills? Can they not be made into useful citizens?" "No, they can't," snaps Mr. Hubbard. "It's been tried too often. Look at the results. Who fill our jails? Foreigners!
Philip was in the worst plight, for he went head first amongst the eggs, and was in consequence rather eggy. He was quite aware of his misfortune, and had been wiping the rich yolk off his face; but, not having a glass before him, he had made it rather smeary, and also left a goodly portion in the roots of his hair.
He took her to a restaurant of fifteen-cent breakfasts and twenty-five-cent dinners. It was the "parlor floor" of an old brownstone house two rooms, with eggy table-cloths, and moldings of dusty stucco. She avoided his presence as much as possible. Mrs.
Then, in a sudden rush, His Majesty the King was delivered of a few inarticulate sounds, followed by the words: "Go a way you dirty little debbil!" "Toby! What do you mean?" "It's what he'd say. I know it is! He said vat when vere was only a little, little eggy mess, on my t-t-unic; and he'd say it again, and laugh, if I went in wif vat on my head." "Who would say that?" "M-m-my Papa!
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