_I'm_ all right.

I'm a decent citizen.

I awake in the rosy dawn with a song on my lips; I softly whistle rag time as I button my collar; I warble a few delicious vagrant notes as I part my sparse hair; I'm not murderous before breakfast; I go down town, singing, to my daily toil; I fish for fat contracts in Georgia marble; I return uptown immersed in a holy calm and the evening paper.

I offer myself a cocktail; I bow and accept; I dress for dinner with the aid of a rascally valet, but--_do_ I swear at him?
No, dear friend; I say, 'Henry, I have known far, far worse scoundrels than you.
Thank you for filling up my bay rum with water.

Bless you for wearing my imported hosiery! I deeply regret that my new shirts do not fit you, Henry!' And my smile is a benediction upon that wayward scullion.