The Shadow of Great Britain

371: Chapter 223: American, Be Confident!

(4K4)_2 371: Chapter 223: American, Be Confident!

(4K4)_2 Arthur froze in his chair holding his teacup, the steam from the hot cocoa clouding his face and leaving a fine layer of droplets on his eyelashes.

“Hmm…

why does that sound so familiar…”

Arthur set down the teacup and leaned back in the chair, remaining silent for a while before speaking, “Are there more stories like that?

I’ve never been to America, but I had plans to make a living there before, so if you have more of these strange tales, let’s hear them.

You never know, I might actually go there someday, and these tips could come in handy.”

“You’re planning to go to America?”

Colt, shocked and pleased, said, “Why would you want to go to America?

Of course, it’s a very good country.

But Mr.

Hastings, why would you want to go?

Aren’t you doing quite well in London?

Don’t look now, but Americans in the theaters boo everyday, yet American businessmen, once they save a bit, will definitely find a way to come to Europe to acquire a title of nobility.”

The most typical case is providing their daughters with a hefty dowry to marry a bankrupt European noble.

And they like to compete with one another.

In their ranking system, a British title is the most noble, followed by a title from France, and then those from the German States and Spain, Austria, etc.

“If someone’s daughter marries a British lord, her parents will surely throw a week-long party and mention it in front of guests eight hundred times.

If the new son-in-law is willing to visit America occasionally to show them off, I think those folks would give away all their wealth willingly.”

Arthur, though not smiling, was slightly trembling as he held his teacup, “Is it really that exaggerated?”

“How could it not be!”

The more Colt thought about it, the angrier he got.

He replied, “You probably don’t know, but just two years ago a banker, because his daughter married the great-great-great-grandson of an earl, especially bought a page in a New York newspaper to announce the celebration, saying although the wedding was costly, it was all worth it, as it was a pursuit of the true essence of European classical culture at any cost.”

“You didn’t see that newspaper, or else you would be as annoyed as me.

That banker, who has nothing but money, although not explicitly stated, implied through the words in that newspaper — America is a backwater, crude, rude, and lacking in taste.

The British world is a pearl, trendy, refined, stylish.

The water in the Mississippi River is not as sweet as the water in the Thames.

Oh, my daughter has become a countess now and can barely breathe the earthy air of New York.

My son-in-law and daughter actually didn’t want to come to America after their marriage; they were supposed to live in London or Paris, attending salons, banquets, and various high-class dances every day.

But to spread advanced European civilization, they came all this way with a spirit of humanitarianism, and you all must compliment them.”

“Before I came to Britain, I actually believed him.

Now that I’m here, although Britain is somewhat more advanced with many factories and various high-end products, America might be a bit rustic…

but it’s not to the extent he described!

Damn him, why doesn’t he drown his whole damn family in the Thames?”

Colt, after all, was still a hot-blooded nineteen-year-old, and as he spoke about this, his already sunburned, rough skin appeared almost like a duck cooked in maple syrup.

He couldn’t help but say self-mockingly, “Mr.

Hastings, with your credentials, I guarantee you will have no problems going to America.

But I think, even if you wanted to go, it’s best to hang around Scotland Yard for another couple of years, and if you could get a knighthood…

Ha, a mere distant relative to nobility would make them spend a fortune, if you could earn the title on your own merits, you would literally be drowned in their money!

I assure you that the moment you set foot on the docks of New York or Boston, those bankers would be like dogs that smell shit, rushing over with their bags and leading their precious daughters to propose marriage.”

Arthur, listening to all this, simply replied, “Mr.

Colt, first of all, let’s be clear about one thing, I’m not shit.”

Colt retorted, “Of course, if you were meat, you’d be even more desirable!

Because they are truly dogs!

On one hand, anyone who writes a play is considered a British spy, on the other, they’d trade American nationality for French the moment they could, and trade French for British just for a purportedly useless title of nobility, or rather just for bloodlines, sending a ton of family wealth just to marry off a daughter.

Don’t you think Americans are schizophrenic?”

At this point, Colt couldn’t help but draw his revolver from its holster: “Damn it!

The more I talk about it, the angrier I get.

I really want to kill all those people.

Just thinking about it makes me feel sorry for Mr.

Dunlap, who the hell is really the British spy?”

Listening to this, the real British spy, Arthur, just calmly sipped his hot cocoa, ready to listen to Colt continue his rant.

Colt furiously attacked, “Poetry, plays, and novels are all like ‘Columbia’s Foresight,’ ‘Columbia’s War Poetry: The American War,’ ‘The End of British Tyranny,’ ‘Conquering Canaan,’ and other anti-British works.

Descriptions of Britain are invariably about the struggling lives of the poor, the rich being unkind, the entire society being morally corrupt, and social order disarrayed.

When it comes to America, it’s all about hospitable farmers, upright citizens, and various enthusiastic gentlemen.”