“Oh!” shouted Cæsar.
“What’s the matter, Cæsar?” the mother asked, with apparent surprise.
“Cicero kicked me on the shin. Make ’im quit.”
“Don’t bother Cæsar, Cicero. Mr. Waffington will think that you are both mighty bad boys.”
There was a long silence likened unto that perfect silence and calm that precedes the great and mighty storms that come up suddenly over the seas. Then Cicero, the youngest, looked up out of the corners of his eyes and ventured to ask:
“Aire you the Governor, Mister?”
“Why, no, my boy, I’m not the Governor. I am only a man—a common man.”
“Now, ma,” Cæsar chimed in. “Ma said that you wuz the Governor and——”
“Cæsar Tolson, I’m ashamed of you. I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m ashamed of you,” the mother finally said in despair.
“An’ Ma said that you wuz as big as the sheriff,” piped Cicero.