"Good, wasn't it?" said Billy's grandfather. "Laid that red-headed poison peddler as flat as a pancake."
"Best speech I ever heard in this hall, Mr. Morton; it was so splendidly short."
But Billy kept thinking, all the way home, "What would he have said if I hadn't forgot the rest of it?"
That was years ago, and Billy is a great lawyer now; but he says he has never forgotten what it was that made his first speech so very good.
THE CZAR'S FISH.
BY DAVID KER.
One fine July morning, a few years ago, there was a great stir among the villagers of Pavlovo, on the Lower Volga, for the news had got abroad that the Czar was coming down the river, on his way to his Summer Palace in the Crimea. So, of course, every one was on the look-out for him; for the Russian peasants of the Volga are a very loyal set, and many old men and women among them, who have never been out of their native village before, will tramp for miles over those great, bare, dusty plains on the chance of catching a passing glimpse of "Alexander Nikolaievitch" (Alexander the son of Nicholas), as they call the Czar.
Among those who talked over the great news most eagerly were the family of an old fisherman, who was known as "Lucky Michael," on account of his success in catching the finest fish, although hard work and experience had probably much more to do with it than any "luck."
But of late "Lucky Michael" had been very unlucky indeed. His wife had been ill, to begin with; and one of his two sons (who helped him with his fishing) had been disabled for several weeks by a bad hurt in his arm. Moreover, his boat was getting so crazy and worn out that it seemed wonderful how it kept afloat at all; but the news of the Czar's coming seemed to comfort him for everything.