Frank laughed. “That reminds me,” he said, “of the story of an Irishman, who, out of economy, thought he would teach his horse to feed on shavings. So he provided the horse with a pair of green spectacles which made the shavings look eatable. But unfortunately, just as the horse got learned, he up and died.”
“The hoss must have been a fine specimen of architectur’ by the time he got through,” remarked Dick.
“Whereabouts are we now?” asked Frank, as they emerged from Fourth Avenue into Union Square.
“That is Union Park,” said Dick, pointing to a beautiful enclosure, in the centre of which was a pond, with a fountain playing.
“Is that the statue of General Washington?” asked Frank, pointing to a bronze equestrian statue, on a granite pedestal.
“Yes,” said Dick; “he’s growed some since he was President. If he’d been as tall as that when he fit in the Revolution, he’d have walloped the Britishers some, I reckon.”
Frank looked up at the statue, which is fourteen and a half feet high, and acknowledged the justice of Dick’s remark.
“How about the coat, Dick?” he asked. “Would it fit you?”
“Well, it might be rather loose,” said Dick, “I aint much more’n ten feet high with my boots off.”
“No, I should think not,” said Frank, smiling. “You’re a queer boy, Dick.”