is
coast for us to hide her riches now. America is not asleep. If we hold north of the Columbia 't is all that we can hope."
Black Douglas was angry. He thought the doctor's philanthropy excessive. Ogden felt again the baleful star of his birth that gave him no rest between the rival powers. Ermatinger put on the cap with, "Why, Doctor, I believe you've a bit of Yankee blood yourself."
"Thirty miles north of the Maine border lacks little of it," growled the doctor, nodding his shaggy mane. Somehow McLoughlin, bom on the St. Lawrence, never could see through the partial eyes of a Thamesborn Briton.
He walked back and forth with excited stride, kicking now and then a chair with his cane. Absolute in his rule, he was not accustomed to being crossed, least of all by strangers. Many things had gone wrong. Despite his well-meant kindness, some rough fellows of the baser sort had spoken rudely. He caught the contemptuous epithets, "Money bags," "British," "Monopoly." His companions reminded him of these things. Turning with that eye of his, that cut to the marrow, " Because an ill-bred puppy barks shall I blame a whole people?"
Stung, harassed, annoyed on every hand by the perplexities of the situation, the doctor had one mentor that always led him right his faithful wife, the Madame. Composed, apparently imperturbable, she sat with her knitting, soothing him with her soft French, "There, there, Dogtor, he low-bred fellow. Gentlemen not heed such thing."
So always it had been. Frequently the doctor's quick temper had ignited over some recreant servant,
