“That’s the worst thing, almost, that ever happened to me,” said Will.
“Never mind it, Will; its over now, and not much harm done. I wouldn’t let that trouble me a minute. We boys in the city, don’t count that as much; we’re used to all sorts of horrible things happening to us; we get hardened to it; we expect it. But it was all that dismal straw-hat; that did the mischief. If I hadn’t flung it into the back-yard the other day, our balloon might be soaring around yet! Well, it’s burnt up now, from stem to stern.”
“Yes, Henry; but it isn’t a very good way to keep out of mischief; it—it makes me feel very miserable. George would say we are incendiaries.”
“Who’s George? Somebody that is nobody, I guess. Well, at any rate, that isn’t the word. Giantize is a great deal better. To giantize, Will, is to eat like a giant; to do big things; to astonish the natives; to be a hero; to rescue captives. We’ll giantize to-morrow night when we rescue the man—if there is a man—in the Demon’s Cave. Some day, Will, I’ll take you to a bookstore, and show you a weekly paper with continued stories in it, and continual heroes in the stories. These heroes are very, very strong, and good, and brave, and handsome; and they make it a settled business to giantize.”
“Oh, I know what those papers are, Henry; I know a Mr. Horner that takes two or three of them; and he gets so excited over the stories that sometimes he can’t sleep at night. But his boy Jim—Timor we call him—is the biggest coward that ever ran away from a lapdog.”
The boys sat down to dinner with little appetite. Mr. Mortimer made inquiries about the fire, and they acknowledged their share in it. To say that Mr. Mortimer was vexed would hardly express the state of his feelings. In the afternoon a deputation of the City Fathers waited on him, and he and the two cousins were closeted with them some time. What passed between them was never made known; but as they took their departure one of them observed: “Yes, that makes it all right. Well, I never realized before that a straw-bonnet would set fire to a roof. I must tell my boys never to make balloons; or, at least, to make them without cars. By the way, what was it that you dipped in alcohol to make the gas?”
Will was too confused to make a reply. Not so Henry. “Cotton batten, sir, is what we used,” he said, “but a sponge is better still.”
After they had gone, he said to Will: “Now he’ll get himself into trouble! His boys are always trying experiments; and if he tells them about our balloon, they’ll go to work and make one that’ll set the whole place on fire! Oh, they’re awful boys! Only a few days ago they poisoned off a dog with some dangerous gas, and drove the house-keeper’s cat into hysteric fits. Why, Will, their mother can’t keep a tea-kettle three weeks before they swoop down on it; and turn on a full head of steam; and plug up the spout; and batten down the lid; and blow it all to nothing. Oh, that man will have his hands full of sorrow before long.”
“But what does their mother say about it? Surely, she doesn’t like to keep on buying new tea-kettles! And their father,—doesn’t he get mad?”
“Oh, as long as the boys don’t get hurt, their parents think they are smart; and they tell everybody that goes into the house that when the boys grow up, they will revolutionize chemistry and remodel the steam-engine.”