It was charming, idealistic, this change of front—“the king has run away! Long live the king!”
I was somewhat out of breath, which could not be much wondered at, considering all I had gone through in the past half an hour.
Now that the fierce conflict was over, and the shouts of anger changing to those of triumph, I discovered how weak I was, and that my knees actually knocked together, such was the baneful effect of the intense nervous strain.
So I leaned up against the still warm cannon to recover a little of my lost powers.
I found time now to be astonished at myself, and to consider how it was this wonderful battle spirit, inherited from worthy ancestors, had lain dormant in me all these years, its presence unsuspected.
My work was done.
I felt that I had surely repaid my debt, and with compound interest, too.
After all, it would be something to remember, something to talk about in the future, that I had taken an active part in such a hot night’s work.
Grimly, I hoped the boys would not be disappointed in the pompous old warrior they had selected for their next president; it would be sad if, after all this meritorious work, the whole thing would have to be gone through with again ere another year rolled around.
Still, what did it matter to me? I hoped and expected ere two months had gone by to have found a steam yacht to my liking in English waters, and to be flying my pennant far up the storied Nile, with Hildegarde, no other, as my guest and comrade.