The veteran propped his rheumatic leg upon a chair, and laid aside his cane.
“Ha! he wishes to hear tales of the wars, does he? Well, then, ’spose I tell him about the death of poor old Joshua Brews——”
“Oh, no, uncle! I think something less melancholy will please him.”
“I don’t like melancholy tales,” I said.
“Then, ’spose I tell him about the fight that Ben Bunker and me had——”
“That I know wouldn’t please him,” and Ned quickly whispered in my ear “a yarn.”
“Ah, I have it now; tell him about ‘The Rescue at the Eleventh Hour.’ ”
“I hate to tell that; my blood freezes whenever I think of it.”
“ ’Tis surprising,” thought I, “how compatible it is for old men to delight in lies.”
“Which of the tales mentioned would you rather hear; we will leave the decision to you, won’t we, uncle?”