"Oh, you sailor-boys!" said Lawrence in a high falsetto.
This was really more than Mr. Brougham could bear in his exalted state. "I don't like that, boys," he said.
"No, father," answered David; "but you know we never tipped mother; in fact, it's always been quite the other way."
"I mean I don't like your tone of ridicule, of—of—of—" He couldn't think of the word he wanted, and felt conscious that David had it on the tip of his tongue but was too tactful to interrupt. "You boys don't seem to appreciate the sacrifice, the physical strain for a woman of your mother's age—standing all evening handing out sandwiches—not accustomed to hard work either."
Both boys looked gravely ahead of them, and Mr. Brougham had a sickening conviction they were both trying to think of something to say that would calm him.
The canteen was just closing, and the two boys made themselves useful in putting things away. "Just as if it were a school picnic," their father thought.
As soon as they were on their way home Mrs. Brougham asked about the speech. Had it gone well?
"Oh, father was great, mother," David answered. "He took it from them in wads, and presented Lawrence and me to his country with every bond."
"A lady behind us was awfully affected," said Lawrence. "She kept whispering that she understood the speaker had two lovely boys of his own."
"I could hardly keep Lawrence from telling her that she had not been misinformed."