Charles married the young lady referred to incidentally in the last chapter. All the heroes were present at his wedding; and their enthusiasm ran so high that they clubbed together, and bought the happy pair a marvel of a clock, that indicated not only the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, and centuries, but was furnished, also, with a brass band,—which thundered forth “Yankee Doodle,” “Hail Columbia,” and “Home, Sweet Home,”—a regiment of well-dressed negroes, an ear-piercing gong, and “all the latest improvements.”
Charles and his pretty little wife tolerated this nuisance exactly three days, and then the former proposed the following resolution: “That clock runs just one year after being wound, and the boys wound it up tight when they brought it here and set it up. If we let it alone till it runs down, we shall be as mad as the man that made it. I used to delight in “Yankee Doodle,” but now I abominate it! We can keep the handsomest darkey in remembrance of the boys’ mistaken kindness,—rather, in remembrance of the horrible fate they prepared for us,—but the clock’s doom is sealed. I will immolate it this very evening; and the street boys may make off with its broken remains.”
It is hardly worth while to go on and describe the wedding-feast of each of the heroes. Turn to the last page of any novel whatsoever, and you will find an account quite as applicable to this case as to the original of a hero’s marriage.
Will continues to commit his ridiculous blunders as of yore; but they are not quite so ridiculous as those narrated in this tale, for he has learned to keep a strict watch over himself. But, notwithstanding that, notwithstanding his bumps, notwithstanding that he is now a man, he will occasionally unstring the nerves of some weak-headed person by an unseemly act.
Stephen still takes delight in playing off his practical jokes. He often gets into trouble by this means, but it is not in his nature to profit by experience.
George is a man, wise and learned in his own estimation. He sends scientific treatises to the leading journals sometimes, but, alas! it generally results in their being declined. But George does not value time and postage-stamps so highly as he should, consequently he still persists in harassing the editors with his manuscripts. He is very dispassionate in his choice of subjects, writing with equal impartiality and enthusiasm about astronomy, geology, philosophy, aëronautics, and philology. Probably that is the reason why he does not succeed. If he should take up a single science and devote all his energies to it, his name might eventually become known to every school-boy in the land.
The less said about Timor, the better. Any boy who will attempt to hide from a June thunder-storm by skulking under his bed, can never become a man. He may grow up to man’s estate, doubtless; but he will be nothing but a big, overgrown coward.
Bear this in mind, O parent; and if you should ever catch your little son skulking in the aforementioned place while the lightning is playing over the vault of heaven, fall on him, drag him out by the coat-collar, and hoist him on the gate-post, that he may see how beautiful and marvellous the lightning is.
Henry is a man, in every sense of the word. He has a good head for business, and in a few years will, in all probability, become a rich man—which, in good romances, is the main point.
Marmaduke never became a poet, as Steve fondly prophesied. But he is probably the most orthodox antiquary in the United States. He may safely be consulted on whatever relates to antiquities, as his information is unlimited, and his home one great museum of curiosities and monstrosities. To be sure, there are some hideous and repulsive objects in his cabinets—objects which a child would shudder to pass in broad daylight—but his home is the resort of profound, but absent-minded and whimsical, antiquaries from all parts. He and his wife live a quiet and happy life, pitied contemptuously by the ignorant, but honored and respected by those who know them best. He is not so romantic as formerly, his experience with “Sauterelle” having shaken his faith in romance and mystery so much that he afterwards transferred his attention to antiquities, leaving romance and mystery for the novelists and detectives to deal with. He is undeniably a genius, and, much to Steve’s joy, a thorough American.