We looked back. Billoo was stamping up and down the float, waving his arms and orating like Falstaff; Randall and Tombs had their heads together, and were casting what appeared to be baleful glances at Billoo. It was evident that he was not popular on the float.
When we had had some more breakfast, and had sat around a little to digest it, the women began to come down-stairs. Mrs. Randall was the first to come down, and she was in great distress.
"It's too dreadful," she said. "I had something of the utmost importance to tell Billy, something that I wanted him to do for me down-town. And I overslept."
"Well," said I, "let me tell you what a good fellow Billy is. He hasn't gone yet."
"Good Heavens!" she cried, "not gone yet? Why, what time is it? Why, he won't get down-town in time for the opening!"
"Probably not," I said. "He was just going, when suddenly he said, 'I know there's something my wife wants to say to me.' I said, 'Wake her up and find out what it is.' He said, 'No, she's getting so she can't do without her beauty sleep; I'll just wait around till she wakes of herself.'"
"Sam," said Mrs. Randall, "what has happened to my husband?"
"Nothing much," I said. "He's in the same boat with many others—only it isn't a boat. Don't be alarmed."
"Where is my husband?" said she.
"If you are equal to a short, muddy walk," I said, "I will show him to you—Morning, little Miss Tombs—want to see brother and young Fitch? They said they wouldn't go to town till you'd seen them—Morning, Mrs. Giddings—morning, Miss Marshall—I'm not much on breaking bad news, but there's been an accident to all your husbands and brothers and fiancés. They're all alive still, so far as I know—but they ought not to last more than five or six days."