“You’ve got your end all twisted up, Wort,” said the governor.
“O dear!” groaned the president.
The straightening out of the last difficulty was effected after a while, and Gov. Grimes began again: “Here are some big, black dogs in a melon-patch.”
“Bears, bears!” eagerly whispered Charlie, alarmed for the reputation of a club that could not tell the difference between dogs and bears.
“Well, bears, then,” said the governor petulantly, “and I aint going to be it any more.”
The discomfited lecturer insisted on resigning, and Charlie took the floor. He knew his old and beloved “pammerrammer” by heart, and he began promptly where the governor left off.
“Here are some bears in a melon-patch. There’s a picture of Westminster Abbey, and here’s a boy lifting a girl over a fence, and here’s a flag from Europe, and here’s one from some part of Asia or some other place.”
In the midst of Charlie’s glib description there was a crash. The plank, alias the reserved seats, did not have a firm support. Its weakness had been noticed, but not remedied.
“Who’s the one to fix the bench?” inquired Sid.
“The governor,” replied Wort.