The Patriots' Club

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A warm wind blew off the East River, gathering dust, dander, and droppings off the street and swirling the noxious mix into the air. The two men turned their faces from the gust, before resuming their conversation.

“As always, you exaggerate,” the general was saying. “Really, you must calm down. Your temper will be the end of you.”

“I hardly think so,” replied his colleague, shorter by a head. “Look around you. The country’s being torn apart. Gangs of ruffians storming courthouses in the West. Farmers in Pennsylvania lobbying day and night to cut taxes, and King Cotton in the South wanting nothing to do with us at all. We’re being drawn and quartered.”

“With time, we’ll sort out their grievances.”

“With time, the republic will cease to exist! The country’s already grown so large, so diverse. Walk up Broadway and all you hear are foreign tongues-German, Russian, Spanish. Everywhere you look, there’s another immigrant. I’ll give you a dollar for every native English speaker you can find.”

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