The boys were hungry, and ate in silence. Solomon stood apart unobserved, with a broad grin on his face, occasionally muttering to himself, and shaking all over with laughter. After each of these silent explosions, he would suddenly recover his gravity, mutter to himself some solemn rebuke, and look awfully grave for about half a minute, till a new explosion came.
That discovery had been too much for him. He had seen the donkey when it came, but he had never heard it bray. The terror over him had been tremendous. Every night since then had been a night of fear, and it was the violent revulsion of feeling from his former panic which brought on this joyousness. It took him all the rest of the term to get over his tendency to burst forth on all occasions into fits of laughter.
At length the repast was over, and Solomon at last had the satisfaction of feeling that his efforts had been fully “’preciated.” The boys felt like giants refreshed, and Solomon looked with great complacency upon the bones of the fowls and the empty dishes.
“Dat’s about de ticket,” he said, as he piled the dishes into the basket. “Didn’t want to carry back such a hebby load to de ’Cad’my. Been tuggin at it all day. Got to hurry back now.”
“What, Solomon! you’re not going?” said Bart.
“Got to—must.”
“Nonsense! We can’t spare you yet. We want to talk to you.”
“Can’t spar de time now,—mos ’portant business. De doctor allus specks me punct’ly. Got to get him his dinna. Dis is all very well for play; but business is business, an dat’s what me’n’ de doctor’s got to tend to. We’ve got de ’portant business ob life—de dinna ’partment.”
“O, he’ll get his dinner all right,” said Arthur.
“What dat? He—de doctor—widout me!”