"Same thing," said Jones, "same thing! Wouldn't have had much to blow about and have statues set up and comic operas written about him if it had only been America he'd discovered. Chicago does him full justice, an' she's goin' to give him a send-off that'll be a credit to her."
Robin smothered a little laugh in his coat sleeve. He was quite used to hearing jokes about Chicago. The people in the country round were enormously proud of it, and its great schemes and great buildings and multi-millionaires, but those who were given to jokes had the habit of being jocular about it, just as they had the habit of proclaiming and dwelling upon its rush and wealth and enterprise. But Meg was not a jocular person. She was too intense and easily excited. She gave Robin an impatient nudge with her elbow, not in reproof, but as a sort of irrepressible ejaculation.
"I wish they wouldn't be funny!" she exclaimed. "I want them to tell more about it. I wish they'd go on."
But they did not go on—at least not in the way that was satisfactory. They only remained in the barn a short time longer, and they were busy with the work they had come to do. Meg craned her neck and listened, but they did not "tell more," and she was
