That is why one rather gets impatient with him. He feels he is superior, and feels he ought _not_ to feel so, and is therefore rather snobbish, and at the same time a little apologetic. Which is surely tiresome. If a man feels superior, he should have it out with himself. "Do I feel superior because I _am_ superior? Or is it just the snobbishness of class, or education, or money?" Class, education, money won't make a man superior. But if he's just _born_ superior, in himself, there it is. Why deny it? It is a nasty sight to see the Effinghams putting themselves at the mercy of a Dodge, just because of a mere idea or ideal Fools. They ruin more than they know. Because at the same time they are snobbish. Septimus at the court of King Arthur. Septimus: Hello, Arthur! Pleased to meet you. By the way, what's all that great long sword about? Arthur: This is Excalibur, the sword of my knighthood and my kingship. Septimus: That so! We're all equal in the sight of God, you know, Arthur. Arthur: Yes. Septimus: Then I guess it's about time I had that yard-and-a-half of Excalibur to play with. Don't you think so? We're equal in the sight of God, and you've had it for quite a while. Arthur: Yes, I agree. (Hands him Excalibur.) Septimus (prodding Arthur with Excalibur): Say, Art, which is your fifth rib? Superiority is a sword. Hand it over to Septimus, and you'll get it back between your ribs.--The whole moral of democracy. But there you are. Eve Effingham had pinned herself down on the _Contrat Social_, and she was prouder of that pin through her body than of any mortal thing else. Her IDEAL. Her IDEAL of DEMOCRACY. When America set out to destroy Kings and Lords and Masters, and the whole paraphernalia of European superiority, it pushed a pin right through its own body, and on that pin it still flaps and buzzes and twists in misery. The pin of democratic equality. Freedom. There'll never be any life in America till you pull the pin out and admit natural inequality. Natural superiority, natural inferiority. Till such time, Americans just buzz round like various sorts of propellers, pinned down by their freedom and equality. That's why these white novels of Fenimore Cooper are only historically and sardonically interesting. The people are all pinned down by some social pin, and buzzing away in social importance or friction, round and round on the pin. Never real human beings. Always things pinned down, choosing to be pinned down, transfixed by the idea or ideal of equality and democracy, on which they turn loudly and importantly, like propellers propelling. These States. Humanly, it is boring. As a historic phenomenon, it is amazing ludicrous and irritating. If you don't pull the pin out in time, you'll never be able to pull it out. You must turn on it for ever, or bleed to death. "Naked to the waist was I And deep within my breast did lie, Though no man any blood could spy, The truncheon of a spear--" Is it already too late?