“I wonder what your grandfather takes for supper,” said the sergeant sternly. “A man that runs down cats and women and priests ain’t fit to live, in my estimation.”
Eugene promptly raised a little cane that he carried under his arm, and struck the sergeant a smart blow across his legs.
The sergeant in his amazement released his hold of Eugene’s shoulder; and his nurse, stepping forward with a dismayed face, interposed herself between the angry lad and his powerful opponent, and said, “Run, Master Eugene, run.”
“I will not run,” said the boy haughtily. “You, sir,” he went on, addressing the sergeant, “shall give me satisfaction for this some day. I challenge you to fight a duel with me.”
All the annoyance died out of the sergeant’s face. “You young swaggerer,” he said with a short laugh, “you’ve got a hard row to hoe in this life. I’m sorry for you; but I guess I’d no business to run down your grandfather. Come over here now; I want to show you something. You come too,” he added, addressing the nurses and little Virgie, who had timidly retreated when Eugene began to get angry.
Eugene somewhat sulkily accepted his apology, and they all followed him; while the sergeant talked to them over his shoulder, and led the way to a path near the Boylston-street bridge.
“Speaking of cats,” he said, “I want to introduce you to one who is a prince, or rather a king, among them, and perhaps you won’t have quite such a low opinion of the gentry. Stoop your heads now; the shrubbery is pretty dense here.”
The two nurses and the children gazed admiringly before them. They were facing a most snug retreat.