"Well," he remarked weakly, "I'm goin' to get up at half-past three, anyway."
He had me there. I had parental permission to get up at four o'clock, and I had not expected to be surpassed in this important achievement by my own familiar friend.
It rankled with me all day, and in the evening I laid the case before my father and mother. For the honor of the family, as well as for my own self-respect, I simply had to get up at half-past three.
They were in doubt. It was going to be a long and exciting day for me. Aside from the exertion of firing my own supply of crackers and torpedoes, I was going at noon to see "Gunner Hunt" fire his annual salute at the foot of River Street. Then there was the flag-raising on the mall at two o'clock, and the fireworks at March's Hill in the evening.
But they finally consented, and once more I could look Ed Mason in the face.
When the evening of the 3d of July came, I went cheerfully to bed at seven o'clock, in order to prepare for the labors of the next day. I counted my fire-crackers, and found their number complete. It was rather hard to get to sleep on account of the uproarious sounds from Main Street,—cannon crackers, muskets, revolvers, cow-bells, and horns. But finally I dropped off,—only to be disturbed by a dream that Auntie Merrill had come into the room and was making a raid on my fire-crackers.
It was a hideous nightmare,—she vanished out the door with her arms full of my precious possessions, and I could not do a thing to stop her. When I woke I had to get up and count those fire-crackers again.
Then I climbed back in bed once more and listened to the distant noise. Somebody came down our street, dragging a string of cow-bells. The national holiday was being celebrated with diligence.
Suddenly it struck me that perhaps the morning had already come. In a panic I jumped up, lighted a match, and looked at the clock. It was eight o'clock,—I had been asleep less than an hour. Listening at the open window I could hear my family talking in the garden below. I remembered that I was to meet Ed Mason and Jimmy Toppan in that garden at half-past three, and that I had better get to sleep again.
I lay in bed once more, trying not to hear the din. All at once I became aware that some one—my father—was standing at the side of the bed, shaking me.