“Far be it from me,” he said, “to speak except as a mere member of our little community, an ordinary member, but, AS such a member, with the welfare of my birthplace very near and dear to me, I confess that I am inclined to favor a modern teacher, one educated and trained in the institution provided for the purpose by our great commonwealth. The Dawes—er—person is undoubtedly worthy and capable in her way, but—well—er—we know that Wellmouth is not Bayport.”
The reference to “our great commonwealth” had been given in the voice and the manner wont to thrill us at our Fourth-of-July celebrations and October “rallies.” Two of his hearers, at least, were visibly impressed. Asaph looked somewhat crestfallen, but he surrendered gracefully to superior wisdom.
“That's so,” he said. “That's so, ain't it, Cy? I hadn't thought of that.”
“What's so?” asked the captain.
“Why—why, that Wellmouth ain't Bayport.”
“No doubt of it. They're twenty miles apart.”
“Yes. Well, I'm glad to hear you put it so conclusive, Mr. Atkins. I can see now that Phoebe wouldn't do. Hum! Yes.”
Mr. Atkins buttoned the frock coat and turned to go.
“Good day, gentlemen,” he said. “Cyrus, permit me once more to welcome you heartily to our village. We—my daughter and myself—will probably remain at home until the fall. I trust you will be a frequent caller. Run in on us at any time. Pray do not stand upon ceremony.”
“No,” said Captain Cy shortly, “I won't.”