Much as you can do to keep people from running railroads through your family vaults, and, as to one's character, all a man needs to get himself battered black and blue, is to try to be of some service to his country.

Even our presidents have to be murdered before we stop abusing them.

By Jove! Major, you've GOT to salute him! You're too fine a man to run to seed and lose your respect for things worth while.

I won't have it, I tell you! Off with your hat!" I at once uncovered my head (the fog helped to conceal my own identity, if it didn't Peter's) and stood for a brief instant in a respectful attitude.
There was nothing new in the discussion.

Sometimes I would laugh at him; sometimes I would only touch my hat in unison; sometimes I let him do the bowing alone, an act on his part which never attracted attention--looking more as if he had accosted some passing friend.
We had reached Broadway by this time and were crossing the street opposite Trinity Churchyard.
"Come over here with me," he cried, "and let us look in through the iron railings.