“I guess you're mistaken,” said Mr. Crocket, calmly, as he resumed his work. “Leastways, if there is mustard in 'em, it's only meant for a joke.”
Mr. Boggs, who sat in his corner, began to roar.
“It's hard when ye have to invent the joke an' take it, too,” said Mr. Crocket.
Swipes seized the cord and put all his strength upon it.
“You fool, don't you know it's funny?” said the marble-cutter.
Swipes could see no occasion for laughter, and continued to pull the string until it came free.
“Look here, boy, if you can't take your own medicine you'll have to take mine,” said Mr. Crocket, sternly. “You may pick up your things an' go; I'm done with you.”
Poor Swipes! Things had come to a bad turn for him, and his lips were trembling as he prepared to leave.
The thought of him, then, was more to me than my own torture. He was poor and sorely needed his place. I should not have done, or permitted him to do, an act so foolish as that we had been guilty of.
So I spoke up for him with odd mendacity: “It was my fault, Mr. Crocket. Swipes is not to blame. I put the mustard into those helmets.”