“You’re representative to the Gineral Court,” said Isaac, striking his forefinger into the palm of his left hand, with as much emphasis as if a new world had been created.
I felt more magnanimous than ever.
“I shan’t accept,” says I. (The Lord pardon me for lying).
“Shan’t accept!” screamed out Isaac in the greatest amazement, his great goggle eyes starting out of his head. “Shall I go back and tell them so?”
“I mean I’ll take it into consideration,” said I, trying to look as important as I could. “It’s an office of great responsibility, Isaac,” I said; “but I’ll think of it, and after mature deliberation, if my constituents insist upon my going—Isaac, what’ll you take to drink?”
I could not shut my eyes to sleep all that night; and did nothing but think of the General Court, and how I should look in the great hall of the State House, marching up to my seat to take possession. I determined right off to have a bran new blue coat with brass buttons; but on second thoughts, I remembered hearing Colonel Crabtree say that the Members wore their wrappers. So I concluded that my pepper and salt coat, with the blue satinet pantaloons, would do very well. I decided though, to have my drab hat new ironed, and countermanded the orders for the cow-hide boots, because kip skin would be more genteel. In addition to this, because public men should be liberal, and make a more respectable appearance than common folks, I didn’t hesitate long in making up my mind about having a watch-chain, and an imitation breast-pin. “The check handkerchief,” thinks I to myself, “is as good as new; and my pigtail queue will look splendidly if the old ribbon is a little scoured!”
It can’t be described how much the affairs of the nation occupied my attention all the next day, and three weeks afterwards. Ensign Shute came to me about the Byfield pigs, but I couldn’t talk of anything but my legislative responsibilities.
“The critters beat all natur for squealing,” says he, “but they cut capitally to pork.”
“Ah!” says I, “there must be a quorum, before we can do business.”
“The old grunter,” says he, “will soon be fat enough to kill.”