What there is is too sweet.
And I feel like a cow up a tree.”
“And,” improvised Caine,
“In Boston we threw away tea
Because of King George’s decree.
When England disputed,
We just revoluted.
Hurray for the Land of the Free!
“And now that we’ve all testified,” he added, “may I please have another cup? If not, I’m going to keep on repeating insipid verses till I get it.”
The two men had dropped in at the Shevlin house on their way from the Arareek Club. Desirée had listened delightedly to Caleb’s expurgated account of the Committee meeting, and at the story’s close had rung for tea. Caine was a prime favorite of hers. Caleb was wont to lean back and listen in unaffected admiration to their talk—about one-half of which he could understand. His hazarded remark about tea had been thus far the Fighter’s only contribution to the chatter. Emboldened by it he now ventured a second observation.