“Wait till we come back, Topsy, and we’ll have a whole story-book full of tales to tell you,” said Henry. “We are going to do something wonderful, and perhaps we’ll find something to bring back to you. Topsy, tell your baby brother that if we meet Jack the Giant Killer, we’ll smash his head for him.”
A minute later, the boys were fairly on their way to the cave.
“Henry, there is a question I want to ask you,” said Will, as they strode along. “It will be so late when we get home, and we shall be so tired; why didn’t we start early in the afternoon?”
“Ho! what a question! Why, Will, I’m astonished at you! What would be the fun in going in daylight? Don’t you see, night makes everything solemn and romantic, and spurs a fellow on to be very brave—so brave that he wouldn’t be afraid of the skeleton of a devil-fish. Will, do you ever read novels? stories? legends?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t the heroes do all their noble deeds at night? Villains and ruffians prowl around at night, and the heroes know that, and lay their plans to grapple them. Will, when different nations go to war, like two dogs over a bone, if they can only manage to do the fighting at night, they always do. And then what a battle there is.”
He held forth in this strain till he became almost eloquent; but wound up by saying, with great inconsistency, “Besides, it isn’t night at all; it’s only evening.”
To all this Will meekly assented.
“As for being tired,” Henry continued, with intense disgust, “you’re no true boy, Will, if you care a straw for that, when such sport is in view.”
“No, of course not!” Will hastily replied. But he asked himself whether his cousin had any of Marmaduke’s notions.