Ever after, it was the flag of the Danes, and their
German foes had reason to hate it. Here in Slesvig, through which
I was travelling, to display it was good cause for banishment. But
over yonder, behind the black post, it was waiting, and my heart
leaped to meet it. Have I not felt the thrill, when wandering
abroad, at the sight of the stars and stripes suddenly unfolding,
the flag of my home, of my manhood's years and of my pride? Happy
he who has a flag to love. Twice blest he who has two, and such
two.
We have yet a mile to the frontier and, with the panorama of
green meadows, of placid rivers, and of long-legged storks gravely
patrolling the marshes in search of frogs and lizards, passing
by our car-window, I can stop to tell you how this filial pride
in the flag of my fathers once betrayed me into the hands of the
Philistines. It was in London, during the wedding of the Duke of
York. The king and queen of Denmark were in town, and wherever one
went was the Danish flag hung out in their honor. Riding under one
on top of a Holborn bus, I asked a cockney in the seat next to mine
what flag it was.
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