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Honorable Patches, you'd better move on down the wash a piece, and get out of sight behind one of those cedars. This fellow is going to get busy again when I let him up. I'll come along when I've got rid of him." A little later, as Phil rode out of the cedars toward Patches, a deep, bellowing challenge came from up the wash.
As to the performance, it was not refined, nor was the talent employed first-class. Still Phil enjoyed himself after a fashion. He had never had it in his power to attend many amusements, and this was new to him. He naturally looked with interest for the appearance of his new friend and fellow-lodger.
"Nonsense, Phil" Musard flushed under his brown skin "your guests do not want to hear me talk any more about myself. I've monopolized the conversation too long already." "Oh, please do tell us!" exclaimed several of the guests. "Really, you know, I'd rather not," responded Musard, in some embarrassment.
"It isn't a bomb, Miss Matilda, it is only a pasteboard model of our friend Lieutenant Jimmy Lawton's torpedo-boat destroyer. Lieutenant Lawton promised to let us hear if he were successful in preventing some people from stealing the patent on his boat. He has just taken this way to let us know he has won. It's awfully jolly!" explained Phil. "I am so glad he remembered us."
She now was sweeping almost directly down upon him. He heard some call on the upper deck. "They are going to run me down!" he gasped. Phil threw all his strength into an effort to swim out of the path of the swiftly moving boat, but he feared he would not be able to clear her.
You always think you're trying, and if you are, you never accomplish anything. Got, it, Phil?" "Y ye yes." Twisting his legs about the rope the boy next took a weak grip on it with both hands, then started slowly to descend. This he knew how to do, so the feat was attended with no difficulty other than the strength required, and of which he had none to spare just at the present moment.
Instead of doing typing at ninepence a thousand words Phil can embroider things for curates, and instead of peopling the world with prigs and puppets at a guinea a thou', I can oh, I can do anything. I don't know what I shall want to do most, and that's the best of it just to know I can do it.
"Well, Phil Ward that's why the Culpeppers are so nice to Brownwell. Honestly, Phil, the last time I was over Mrs. Culpepper nearly talked her head off to me and at Molly about what a fine man he is, and told all about his family, and connections he's related to the angel Gabriel on his mother's side," she laughed, "and he's own cousin to St. Peter through the Brownwells."
"Well, rather." The speaker rested his hand on Phil's shoulder a moment. "I tell you it is good, young lady, to have the son part added, worth waiting for. I'm mighty proud of that sign. Between you and me, Miss Tony, I'm proud of my son too." "Who is blarneying now?" laughed Phil. "Go on with you, Dad. You are spoiling my sale." The father chuckled again and moved away.
Phil presented himself in good season the next morning at the store in Franklin Street. As he came up in one direction the youth whom he had seen in the store the previous day came up in the opposite direction. The latter was evidently surprised. "Halloo, Johnny!" said he. "What's brought you here again?" "Business," answered Phil. "Going to buy out the firm?" inquired the youth jocosely.
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