as mothers, if they only will?
Feeling that his sentiments had been approved, and he need not be
ashamed of the honest color in his cheeks, Ed sat down amid the
applause of his side, especially of Jack, who pounded so
vigorously with his crutch that Mrs. Pecq popped in her head to
see if anything was wanted.
“No, thank you, ma’am, we were only cheering Ed,” said Gus, now
upon his legs, and rather at a loss what to say till Mrs. Pecq’s
appearance suggested an idea, and he seized upon it.
“My honored friend has spoken so well that I have little to add. I
agree with him, and if you want an example of what girls can do,
why, look at Jill. She’s young, I know, but a first-rate scholar for
her age. As for pluck, she is as brave as a boy, and almost as smart
at running, rowing, and so on. Of course, she can’t play ball–no
girl can; their arms are not made right to throw–but she can catch
remarkably well. I’ll say that for her. Now, if she and Mabel–and–
and–some others I could name, are so clever and strong at the
beginning, I don’t see why they shouldn’t keep up and go along
with us all through. I’m willing, and will do what I can to help
other fellows’ sisters as I’d like to have them help mine. And I’ll
punch their heads if they’d on’t”; and Gus subsided, assured, by a
burst of applause, that his manly way of stating the case met with
general approval.
“We shall be happy to hear from our senior member if he will
honor us with a few remarks,” said Frank, with a bow to Ralph.
No one ever knew whom he would choose to personate, for he
never spoke in his own character. Now he rose slowly, put one
hand in his bosom, and fixing his eye sternly on Crif, who was
doing something suspicious with a pin, gave them a touch of
Sergeant Buzfuz, from the Pickwick trial, thinking that the debate
was not likely to throw much light on the subject under discussion.
In the midst of this appeal to “Me lud and gentlemen of the jury,”
he suddenly paused, smoothed his hair down upon his forehead,
rolled up his eyes, and folding his hands, droned out Mr.
Chadband’s sermon on Peace, delivered over poor Jo, and ending
with the famous lines:
“Oh, running stream of sparkling joy,
To be a glorious human boy!”
Then, setting his hair erect with one comprehensive sweep, he
caught up his coat-skirts over his arm, and, assuming a
parliamentary attitude, burst into a comical medley, composed of
extracts from Jefferson Brick’s and Lafayette Kettle’s speeches, and
Elijah Pogram’s Defiance, from “Martin Chuzzlewit.” Gazing at
Gus, who was convulsed with suppressed merriment, he thundered
forth:
“In the name of our common country, sir, in the name of that
righteous cause in which we are jined, and in the name of the
star-spangled banner, I thank you for your eloquent and categorical
remarks. You, sir, are a model of a man fresh from Natur’s mould.
A true-born child of this free hemisphere; verdant as the mountains
of our land; bright and flowin’ as our mineral Licks; unspiled by
fashion as air our boundless perearers. Rough you may be; so air
our Barrs. Wild you may be; so air our Buff alers. But, sir, you air
a Child of Freedom, and your proud answer to the Tyrant is, that
your bright home is in the Settin’ Sun. And, sir, if any man denies
this fact, though it be the British Lion himself, I defy him. Let me
have him here!”–smiting the table, and causing the inkstand to
skip–“here, upon this sacred altar! Here, upon the ancestral ashes
cemented with the glorious blood poured out like water on the
plains of Chickabiddy Lick. Alone I’d are that Lion, and tell him
that Freedom’s hand once twisted in his mane, he rolls a corse
before me, and the Eagles of the Great Republic scream, Ha, ha!”
By this time the boys were rolling about in fits of laughter; even
sober Frank was red and breathless, and Jack lay back, feebly