“Yes,” says I, “the Speaker has the casting vote.”
“Your new pig-pen,” says he, “will hold ’em all.”
“I shall take my seat,” said I, “and be sworn in according to the Constitution.”
“What’s your opinion of corn-cobs?” says he.
“The Governor and Council will settle that,” says I.
The concerns of the whole commonwealth seemed to be resting all on my shoulders, as heavy as a fifty-six; and everything I heard or saw made me think of the dignity of my office. When I met a flock of geese on the school-house green, with Deacon Dogskin’s old gander at the head, “There,” says I, “goes the Speaker, and all the honourable members.”
This was talked of up and down the town, as a proof that I felt a proper responsibility; and Simon Sly said the comparison was capital. I thought so too. Everybody wished me joy of my election, and seemed to expect great things; which I did not fail to lay to heart. So having the eyes of the whole community upon me, I saw that nothing would satisfy them, if I didn’t do something for the credit of the town. Squire Dobbs, the chairman of our select men, preached me a long lecture on responsibility:
“Lieutenant Turniptop,” says he, “I hope you’ll keep up the reputation of Squashborough.”
“I hope I shall, Squire,” says I, for I felt my dignity rising.
“It’s a highly responsible office, this going to the Gineral Court,” says he.