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The youth only smiled at her.
"Go on!" she said impatiently.
"I think possibly your father was right," he replied, "when he said you
'boss the show.'"
"Oh, that's what he said, eh? Well, I guess he's about right."
"But you don't really?"
"Don't what? 'Boss the show'? Well, I boss my own show, at any rate.
Don't you?"
"Don't I what, exactly? Boss the show? Well, I don't think we have any
'show,' and I don't believe we have any 'boss.' Dad and I just talk
things over, you see."
"But," she insisted, "some one in the last analysis must decide. Your
menage, no matter how simple, must have a head. It is a law of the
universe itself, and it is the law of mankind. You see, I have done some
political economy."
"And yet," said the young man, "you say you run your own show?"
"Exactly. Every social organism must have a head, but every individual
in the organism must live its own free life. That is true democracy. But
of course you don't understand democracy, you Canadians."
"Aha! There you are! You Americans are the most insular of all the great
peoples of the world.


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