"Yes we have. But you see we began at the top."
"What's he a-sitting on, anyhow?"
"On the ice. Tell you what, boys, we'll have to make him cross-legged."
"He wasn't a tailor," squeaked Billy McCoy. "He was the lightning-rod man."
Billy had watched all that work with his round mouth half open, and had seemed to regard the job as in a manner under his supervision. But then he had that way of looking at almost any work, no matter who might be doing it, and he had never been known to make any charge for his advice.
It was too late now for any discussion of the matter, however, and all the boys were proud of the way they crossed Benjamin Franklin's legs for him.
"We'll hide one of his feet under him," said Burr. "Joe, can you cut out the other one like a boot?"
"Of course I can."
He did, but if the hidden foot was as large as the one he fitted at the end of Ben's right leg, he could not have needed a great deal more to sit on.
Billy McCoy himself remarked of it, doubtfully, "It's just the biggest foot I ever saw."