“I move,” said a dapper little Frenchman who had been a barber and a National Guard once, “I move that the honorable deputy make a statement to the Chamber respecting the interesting fact to which he has alluded.”
The motion was carried by acclamation, and I was accordingly induced to ascend the tribune,—a kind of rude pulpit that was brought specially into the room, and stationed at the side of the president's chair; the comments on my personal appearance, age, air, and probable rank, which were made all the while, evidencing the most candid spirit one can well imagine.
“A right-down slick and shrewd 'un, darn me if he ain't!”
“A very wide awake young gemman,” quoth number two.
“Il a de 'beaux yeux,' celui-là,”—this was a lady's remark.
“Set that young 'un among the girls 'down east,' and he'll mow 'em down like grass.”
“A Londoner,—swell-mobbish a bit, I take it.”
“Not at all, he a'nt; he's a bank clerk or a post-office fellow bolted with a lot of tin.”