This discussion was now interrupted by the approach of Theodore Fog, Flan Sucker, and Sim Travers. By this addition to the company, the New Lights gained an overwhelming preponderance of numbers over their adversaries. Indeed, Abel Brawn, and Davy Post, the wheelwright, were the only Whigs in the assemblage; and the consequence was that Abel, who fought them all pretty manfully at first, was obliged to give in so far as to remain silent—with the exception of a random shot, which now and then he let off by way of repartee—Abel not being bad at that. Davy Post was naturally a silent man, and, therefore, did not pretend to be a speaker on this occasion.
As soon as Theodore Fog was informed what was the topic in debate, and especially of the doubts which seemed to be prevalent regarding the Sub-Treasury, he took a station against the door-post, where the whole company gathered around him; and, being now in an oratorical mood, he began to address the auditory in something like a speech:—
"Gentlemen," said he, at the same time drawing, with a jerk, his neckcloth away and flaunting it in his hand, "in a free government we have no secrets. Freedom of Opinion and its twin-sister Freedom of Discussion are chartered libertines that float upon the ambient air consecrated to the Genius of Universal Emancipation——"
"Hurra for old The!" shouted Sim Travers.
"Ya—hoop—halloo—go it!" yelled Flan Sucker, with a wild and deafening scream, which sufficiently manifested the fact that he was most noisily drunk.
Several of the company interfered by remonstrating with Flan against this unnecessary demonstration of fervor, which Flan, on the other hand, insisted upon as his right.
"Whenever old The. Fog comes out high flown," said he, "I yells as a matter of principle. It's encouragin' to youth. Nebuchadnezzar, the King of the Jews, couldn't beat him at a speech: he's the butt cut of Democracy."
"Flan, hold your tongue," said Theodore. "Gentlemen, we have no secrets. Abel Brawn and Davy Post are welcome to hear all I have to impart. I know—everybody knows—that we have been in a state of suspense on the great question of the Sub-Treasury. The Independent Treasury, as we are going to call it since Congress rejected it—we'll try what a new name will do. I say we have been in suspense. Like honest New Lights we have waited to see how the cat would jump. Some men imagined that Martin would bow to the judgment of the people and give it up. They did not know the stern, uncompromising, footstep-following principles that dwell at the bottom of his heart. He will never give it up—the people must take it: he has got nothing else for them. Hasn't he tried everything else? And isn't this the last thing he could think of? Why, then, of course, the people must gulp it down, or the party is broke. Where is the slave that would desert his party? Who's here so base would be a turncoat? The Whigs call the President the servant of the people—we call him the Ruler, the Great Chieftain,—and when a man deserts him he is a TURNCOAT—that is sound New-Light doctrine.
"Sirs, it has been developed in the recent demonstrations of contemporary history——"