This manly remark had a decided effect on Clinton, who, in the bitterness of his disappointment, had uttered a sentiment which, to do him justice, we must say did not come from his heart.
“I suppose it’s all for the best,” he said; “but what shall we tell the boys, when they meet, to-morrow, to learn their parts?”
“We can tell them that our dialogue did not suit us, and we’re going to write another,” replied Whistler.
“Another?—how can we do that?” inquired Clinton.
“Why, you don’t mean to give it up, do you?” inquired Whistler. “I don’t, at any rate. We’ve promised the boys an original dialogue, and I, for one, shan’t back out without trying at least once more. We’ve got over a week to do it in, and it didn’t take us three days to write that.”
“Yes,—but the subject?” suggested Clinton.
“Ah, that’s the stick!” said Whistler. “Don’t you think your father could tell us of something to write about?”
“You might ask him,” said Clinton, who seemed determined that if another dialogue was written, his cousin should shoulder the burden.
Willie did ask his uncle, who was much pleased to learn that the boys had concluded to try again. He talked with them during the evening in regard to the matter, and suggested several plans and subjects, one of which struck them very favorably, and they at once concluded to adopt it.
Early the next morning the boys went to work upon their new dialogue; and so earnestly did they labor, that, to their own astonishment, it was finished when the dinner hour arrived. It was much shorter, however, than the first one, and was also simpler in its construction. Mr. Davenport read and approved it; and in the afternoon the nymphs of Spouting Hollow—if that classic retreat was honored by such inhabitants—had the pleasure of listening to its first rehearsal.