"And, Jim, you can believe those Hessians knew how to fight, too. But it took Washington's army to lick them, didn't it, father?" gloated George, mentally patting himself on the back.
"Yes, and I remember the story of a great battle waged on Brooklyn Heights, when Washington had to cross the East River in the fog. That scene will never be forgotten by many of the New Yorkers who felt sure they had cornered the Black Hand and kidnappers of some very sweet little angels," remarked Mr. Parke.
"Father! Who told you about it?" asked Martha, who had felt quite sure that not one of the elders had discovered anything at all about that long-to-be-remembered escapade.
"Why, the American eagle whispered it in my ear when we came in from the theatre party that night!" teased Mr. Parke.
Then George had to tell Jim all about that battle on the roof when they were dressed in the bellboys' uniforms. And Jim sighed and sighed, and wondered why it was the lot of some folks to have all the joys of life, while others have bandy-legs and stay at home! Ah, Jim, such is life! I have never been able to explain the cause of such partiality, either.
"Oh, George, tell Jim about your wonderful dream, when the Germans captured you in the submarine and you escaped on the torpedo!"
Here was another marvelous tale for the most attentive of listeners, and Jim's eyes opened again, wider and wider as George described his experience, and it lost nothing of its weirdness and wonder in the telling, either.
Then he stopped the story just as the American eagle dropped to let him slide off from the cupola, but failed to explain to Jim that it was all a dream.
"Jim, do you know what saved George from bumping his head on the ground of City Hall Park that day?" asked Mr. Parke.
"No, sah, Ah don'. He diden bump, did he?" worried Jim.