I had him again. He had to fumble around in his mind as much as another
minute before he could play; then he said in as mean a way as I ever
heard a person say anything:

"He could have been counting the cigars, you know."

I cannot endure a man like that. It is nothing to him how unkind he is,
so long as he takes the bloom off. It is all he cares for.

"An Englishman (or other human being) does dearly love a lord," (or
other conspicuous person.) It includes us all. We love to be noticed by
the conspicuous person; we love to be associated with such, or with
a conspicuous event, even in a seventh-rate fashion, even in the
forty-seventh, if we cannot do better. This accounts for some of our
curious tastes in mementos. It accounts for the large private trade in
the Prince of Wales's hair, which chambermaids were able to drive in
that article of commerce when the Prince made the tour of the world in
the long ago--hair which probably did not always come from his brush,
since enough of it was marketed to refurnish a bald comet; it accounts
for the fact that the rope which lynches a negro in the presence of
ten thousand Christian spectators is salable five minutes later at
two dollars and inch; it accounts for the mournful fact that a royal
personage does not venture to wear buttons on his coat in public.

We do love a lord--and by that term I mean any person whose situation
is higher than our own. The lord of the group, for instance: a group of
peers, a group of millionaires, a group of hoodlums, a group of sailors,
a group of newsboys, a group of saloon politicians, a group of college
girls. No royal person has ever been the object of a more delirious
loyalty and slavish adoration than is paid by the vast Tammany herd to
its squalid idol in Wantage. There is not a bifurcated animal in that
menagerie that would not be proud to appear in a newspaper picture in
his company. At the same time, there are some in that organization who
would scoff at the people who have been daily pictured in company with
Prince Henry, and would say vigorously that THEY would not consent to
be photographed with him--a statement which would not be true in any
instance. There are hundreds of people in America who would frankly say
to you that they would not be proud to be photographed in a group
with the Prince, if invited; and some of these unthinking people would
believe it when they said it; yet in no instance would it be true. We
have a large