"We shall call on you again, Brougham," he said gayly.
Mr. Brougham nodded, but his thought was: Is nothing enough for these fellows?
His two boys were waiting for him at the stage door. "You're good, sir, you're good!" they cried, patting him on the back.
"I never thought he'd let them have it so mild," said Lawrence.
Mr. Brougham did not mind being laughed at—at least he always said he didn't—but he couldn't bear to have patriotism in any form held up to ridicule. He thought to himself:
"They don't know what it costs a man of my age to go on a stage and make a speech. I don't enjoy making myself conspicuous."
"We'll stop and get your mother at the canteen," he said sternly.
"Oh, yes, this is mother's night for saving the country, isn't it?" said Lawrence.
"Did you know," said David to his brother, across his father's head, for they were both taller than he, "did you know that a gob tipped mother the other evening? So pleased with his coffee that he flicked her a dime for herself."