“And with Mrs. Flynn,” Joe continued, “and your father and your brothers.”
“My brothers—That reminds me, Cousin Joe, that if there is going to be a war, I suppose they will want to fight too. Alas! I’ve a mind to turn Yankee and cry down war.”
“And let Patrick go unavenged, after all the sweet looks you have cast on him and the honeyed words to his mother?”
“Quit your nonsense, sir. You know I would never give soft glances to a common sailor.”
“Thank you, and what am I?”
“No common sailor, but an uncommonly pert young gentleman. You may walk to Julia Gittings’s with me, and there leave me; I’ll warrant her brother will see me home.”
“I warrant he will if I give him a chance, but I’ve no notion of deserting you, Cousin Lettice. You asked me to walk with you, and I’ll complete my part of the contract.”
Lettice gave him a soft little dab with her white fingers, and another moment brought them to a standstill before one of the comfortable houses fronting the square below their own home. They found Miss Julia surrounded by a bevy of young gentlemen in short-waisted coats, and by as many young ladies in as short-waisted gowns.
“Law, Lettice, is it you?” cried Julia. “Have you heard the news? They say we’ll surely have war. Won’t it be exciting! Howdy, Mr. Joe. Come sit here and tell me of your exploits. Mr. Emery has just been trying to fool us by relating a story of your being overhauled by the British.”
“It is true. Isn’t it, Joe?” spoke up one of the young men.