Stuyvesant walked by
his side, nearly a head taller, and of more
distinguished bearing, though of plebeian extraction.
His manner was exceedingly deferential,
and he was praising England and everything
English in a fulsome manner.
"Yes, my lord," Carl overheard him say,
"I have often thought that society in England
is far superior to our American society."
"Thanks, you are very kind," drawled the
nobleman, "but really I find things very
decent in America, upon my word. I had been
reading Dickens's `Notes' before I came over
and I expected to find you very uncivilized,
and--almost aboriginal; but I assure you I
have met some very gentlemanly persons in
America, some almost up to our English standard."
"Really, my lord, such a tribute from a man in your
position is most gratifying. May I state this on your authority?"
"Yes, I don't mind, but I would rather not get into
the papers, don't you know. You are not a--reporter, I hope."
"I hope not," said Mr. Stuyvesant, in a lofty tone.
"I am a scion of one of the oldest families in New York.
Of course I know that social position is a very different
thing here from what it is in England. It must be a
gratifying thing to reflect that you are a lord."
"Yes, I suppose so. I never thought much about it."
"I should like so much to be a lord. I care little for money."
"Then, by Jove, you are a remarkable man."
"In comparison with rank, I mean. I would rather be a lord
with a thousand pounds a year than a rich merchant with ten
times as much.
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