"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Simon Rump, you are a brute!" said the angel.

"But, my duck," said Simon, "I could not----"

"Don't call me your duck! Duck, indeed! Simon Rump, you are a brute! You have no feeling. What! stand there and hear that bald-headed b.o.o.by call me venerable! Well, I'll give Mr. Pate a piece of my mind. Venerable!

venerable!" And the mother of the cherubs rushed from the room in a state of unangelic excitement, while Simon Rump seated himself in his big arm-chair and looked doleful and desolate.

On the following morning as M. T. Pate sat on his porch, brooding over the humiliation of his defeat, a sable son of Africa rode up and handed him a letter. He opened it and read as follows:

"Mr. M. T. PATE,--Simon has told me that in your speech to the jury you several times called me venerable. No wonder you lost our case!

for after such a whopper about me it was not likely that a single man on the jury would believe one word you might say. How dare you call a decent woman like me venerable? I am not so venerable as you yourself, with your big head almost bare of hair outside and altogether bare of brains inside.

"You ran away because you were afraid to look twelve honest men in the face after what you had said about me. You may have better luck when you have learned to tell the truth. No more at present.

"ABIGAIL RUMP."

This letter, though mortifying at the time, was afterwards of essential service to M. T. Pate. He perceived that adjectives suggestive of personal qualities were often, like edged tools, to be used with extreme caution, especially in their application to the female s.e.x; and that the equanimity even of the mother of seven sweet little cherubs might be seriously disturbed by an indiscreet use of the word venerable.

CHAPTER XXV.

"Mr. Pate made an astonishing speech," said the Professor to Toney and Tom, the day after the trial; "such a speech as has been seldom listened to by any audience,--a speech that was unanswerable by argument."

"And Toney knew it," said Tom, "and did not attempt to answer it by argument."

"Toney," said the Professor, "was like a wild Indian, dodging around and aiming his arrows at Pate, who had come on the ground with a heavy piece of artillery."

"Why do you compare me to a savage?" said Toney.

"Because you use merciless weapons," said the Professor. "Civilized men do not employ the scalping-knife and tomahawk."

"Nor did I," said Toney.

"Figuratively and metaphorically speaking, you did," said the Professor.

"You brought into the field of forensic controversy a most barbarous and cruel weapon."

"What was that?" asked Toney.

"Ridicule," said the Professor. "It may be termed the oratorical scalping-knife. Why, sir, Demosthenes, with all his thunder, would have been powerless against it. Now, M. T. Pate, though not equal to the great Athenian, is an eloquent man. He drew tears from Mr. Seddon, who wept profusely over the wrongs of Simon Rump, and his venerable wife, and innocent little ones. But of what avail is the most touching pathos and sublime eloquence when met by ridicule? Do you not recollect what the poet and philosopher Pope says on this subject?"

"I do not," said Toney.

"Let an amba.s.sador," says he, "speak the best sense in the world and deport himself in the most graceful manner before a prince, yet if the tail of his shirt happen (as I have known it to happen to a very wise man) to hang out behind, more people will laugh at that than attend to the other."

"That is as true as a text from Holy Writ," said Tom Seddon.

"It is a truth, Mr. Seddon, by no means creditable to the good sense of mankind, as we have seen in the case of the learned, eloquent, but unlucky M. T. Pate," said the Professor. "Pate's unfortunate allusion to the prospective division of families, resulting from the construction of the ca.n.a.l, afforded an opportunity for ridicule, and the great beauty and eloquence of his speech were lost sight of the very moment the audience beheld Tony Belton's finger pointing to the visible protrusion of his nether garment."

"Pate rode away at a terrific speed," said Seddon. "I have not heard of him since. If he has unfortunately broken his neck, Toney Belton will be answerable for the awful catastrophe."

"No responsibility can possibly attach to me," said Toney. "You are entirely mistaken in reference to the cause of his abrupt departure. Mr.

Pate had promised to make a speech in behalf of Simon Rump. He did make a speech, and then, looking at his watch, he hurried away; for he had more important business on hand than any which lawyers have to transact.

He was to preside at a committee. The hour for its meeting had nearly arrived, and hence he was compelled to make a liberal use of whip and spur."

"A committee!" exclaimed Tom.

"What committee?" asked the Professor.

"A committee composed of several of the most distinguished members of the Mystic Order of Seven Sweethearts," said Toney.

"What is its object?" asked the Professor.

"A tournament," said Toney.

"A what?" exclaimed Seddon.

"A tournament," said Toney. "To M. T. Pate belongs the distinguished honor of being the originator of a tournament in this age and country."

"How did such an extraordinary idea ever enter his head?" said Seddon.

"Great men," said Toney, "are often led to important discoveries by certain phenomena, which, to ordinary minds, are devoid of significance.

Suppose you, Tom Seddon, had been sitting under an apple-tree, instead of Newton, and an apple had fallen and hit you on the head; what would you have done?"

"Scratched my cocoanut," said Tom.

"In the situation supposed," said the Professor, "it is highly probable that Mr. Seddon would first have vigorously t.i.tillated the top of his head, and then picked up the pippin and devoured it."

"It was not so with the great Newton," said Toney. "The sudden shock which his cranium received awakened an idea, and that idea expanded into a magnificent system of philosophy. And so it was with M. T. Pate."

"Did Pate sit under an apple-tree?" asked Tom.

"No," said Toney; "it was a cherry-tree. He was seated on the greensward under its shade, when his attention was attracted to the curious pranks of a couple of urchins. They had paper caps on their heads with the tail-feathers of a rooster stuck in their crowns. Pate heard one of the little fellows say, 'I'll be Bonaparte,' and his companion immediately rejoined that he was Wellington. The ill.u.s.trious Napoleon was armed with a bean-pole, and the Iron Duke held in his hand the fragment of a fishing-rod. After marching and countermarching, and performing many difficult evolutions, the martial enthusiasm of Napoleon finally rose to such a pitch that he could no longer restrain himself. As impetuously as when he was leading his valiant legions over the bridge of Lodi, he charged upon Wellington, and, before the latter could parry the thrust, inserted the end of the bean-pole in his mouth, to the no small damage of his ivory. The hero of Waterloo having his mouth thus unexpectedly opened, gave utterance to a cry which was, by no means, so warlike as might have been antic.i.p.ated. It had the effect to bring a certain belligerent dame to the door, who had thus got an intimation that hostilities had actually commenced between Bonaparte and Wellington. She sallied forth, and seizing upon the ill.u.s.trious Napoleon, she laid him over her lap, and gave him what, in the technical phraseology of the nursery, is termed a good spanking. Poor Bonaparte bellowed l.u.s.tily under the operation, and as soon as he had escaped from the hands of his ruthless captor, went and sat on the sill of the door and sobbed sorrowfully over his disgrace. All his martial enthusiasm had been suddenly quenched. 'No sound could awake him to glory again,' and for the s.p.a.ce of one whole hour he indignantly refused to eat even gingerbread."

"I can sympathize with poor Bonaparte," said the Professor, "for I was once the unhappy victim of a similar misfortune in days gone by, when I was not much taller than a gooseberry-bush. I had been diligently perusing that good old book, the Pilgrim's Progress, and under the delusion that I was the valiant Great-heart, I a.s.saulted an urchin who was supposed to be Giant Despair. I overcame the giant, and was imprisoned in the pantry, and afterwards tried, and convicted, and sentenced to undergo the cruel ordeal of a tough twig for a forcible entry into sundry jars of jelly. But what impression did the fall of Napoleon make upon the mind of M. T. Pate?"

"While meditating upon this event, an idea entered his head, which ultimately led to an important discovery. His wonderful sagacity enabled him to perceive that if a little boy could be Bonaparte, a little man might impersonate any hero of whom history makes mention."

"Even Jack the Giant-killer," suggested Tom Seddon.

"If," said Toney, "the unlucky urchin, who had been spanked by his indignant mamma, could arm himself with a bean-pole, and a.s.sault Lord Wellington with such vigor and impetuosity, could not a number of delicate and dainty youths be mounted on diminutive horses, and represent Richard the Lion-hearted, or Ivanhoe, or any of the mail-covered barons whose valorous deeds are immortalized in the pages of Froissart or of Walter Scott?"