And why? Well, because of a certain indefinable something--either of hope or courage or youth or vigor or illusion, what you will, but the average American, or the average European transplanted to America, is a better or at least a more dynamic person than the average European at home, even the Frenchman. He has more grit, verve, humor, or a lackadaisical slapdash method which is at once efficient, self-sustaining, comforting. His soul, in spite of all the chains wherewith the ruling giants are seeking to fetter him, is free. As yet, regardless of what is or may be, he does not appear to realize that he is not free or that he is in any way oppressed. There are no ruling classes, to him. He sings, whistles, jests, laughs boisterously; matches everybody for cigars, beers, meals; chews tobacco, spits freely, smokes, swears, rolls to and fro, cocks his hat on one side of his head, and altogether by and large is a regular “hell of a feller.” He does not know anything about history, or very little, and doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t know anything about art,--but, my God, who with the eternal hills and all nature for a background cannot live without representative art? His food is not extraordinarily good, though plentiful, his clothes are made by Stein-Bloch, or Hart, Schaffner and Marx, and altogether he is a noisy, blatant, contented mess--but, oh, the gay, self-sufficient soul of him! No moans! No tears! Into the teeth of destiny he marches, whistling “Yankee Doodle” or “Turkey in the Straw.” In the parlance of his own streets, “Can you beat him?”[23] And yet-- At other times, viewing the upstanding middle class American with his vivid suit, yellow shoes, flaring tie and conspicuous money roll, I want to compose an ode in praise of the final enfranchisement of the common soul. How much better these millions, I ask you, with their derby and fedora hats, their ready-made suits, their flaring jewelry, automobiles and a general sense of well-being, and even perfection, if you will, than a race of slaves or serfs, dominated by grand dukes, barons, beperfumed and beribboned counts, daimios, and lords and ladies, however cultivated and artistic these may appear! True, the latter would act more gracefully, but would they be any the more desirable for that, actually? I hear a thousand patrician-minded souls exclaiming, “Yes, of course,” and I hear a million lovers of democracy insisting “No.” Personally, I would take a few giants in every field, well curbed, and then a great and comfortable mass such as I see about me in these restaurants, for instance, well curbed also. Then I would let them mix and mingle.