I had been densely obtuse not to guess it, but my mind was occupied by so many other things, principally concerning Hildegarde, that, after all, there was some excuse.
And, without knowing it, I had of late been an understudy of the great Gen. Toreado—been in training, as it were, for the exalted office to which he aspired.
Well, it was more than a joke.
My first inclination was to decline; to put my foot down firmly and decline that not on my life would I accept the position, even though it were offered on a golden salver.
Then I hesitated.
I believe that it is commonly accepted as a truth that the man who deliberates is lost.
I seemed to grasp the whole business in one comprehensive sweep; there was Robbins, eager and expectant, who would be grievously shocked if I declined; then there were the dear “boys,” howling away so merrily, and with such sweet assurance outside, it would surely give them pain if a candidate for the exalted station of president were to decline after their first choice had been shot down.
Besides, how about that debt I owed them? Could I grieve the honest fellows after they had so nobly received me as a citizen, and had risen one whole hour in advance of the programme, just to oblige us, who were in sore straits?
Perish the thought!
I would temporarily make a martyr of myself, and remain as long as Hildegarde were satisfied. It would be something to lord it in the city where I had met with such a strange mingling of good and bad luck.