The Duke of Connaught turned and looked the fussy lip-loyalist over.
"What's good enough for Americans is good enough for me," he said.

An instance of the absence of flunkeyism from the Dominion's loyalty to
the Mother Country occurred during the visit of the present King as
Prince of Wales to the Canadian Northwest a few years ago. The royal
train had arrived at some little western place, where a contingent of
the Mounted Police was to act as escort for the Prince's entourage.
The train had barely pulled in when a fussy little long-coat-tailed
secretary flew John-Gilpin fashion across the station platform to a
khaki trooper of the Mounted Police.

"His Royal Highness has arrived! His Royal Highness has arrived,"
gasped the little secretary, almost apoplectic with self-importance.
"Come and help to get the baggage off--"

"You go to ----," answered the khaki-uniformed trooper, aiming a
tobacco wad that flew past the little secretary's ear. "Get the
baggage off yourself! We're not here as porters. We're here to
execute orders and we don't take 'em from little damphool fussies like
you."

Yet that trooper was of the company that made the Strathcona Horse
famous in South Africa--famous for such daring abandon in their charges
that the men could hardly be held within bounds of official orders. He
is of the very class of men who have forsaken gainful occupations in
the West to clamor a hundred-thousand strong for the privilege of
fighting to the last ditch for the empire under the rain of death from
German fire.