They began to laugh again, when a ring at the door-bell was heard.
“That’s papa!” cried Julia.
Papa it was—come for his family. He came in presently, robust and decisive, purseproud, as usual, and smiling, made his salutations with a certain rude courtesy, and took a chair.
“Well, young ladies,” he burst out presently, “so you went to hear Phillips harangue this evening.”
“Yes, uncle,” returned Muriel, sportively, “we had you to keep us in countenance you know.”
“Indeed! Well, I’m sorry if my example incited you. Lafitte, our Southern visitor, thought it would be amusing to hear some of the fanatical blather, and so I took him along, and, just by chance, he got a dose of Phillips.”
“I hope the dose did him good, Lemuel, and you also,” said Mrs. Eastman, with some spirit.
“Oh, I don’t deny Phillips’s power, Serena,” replied the merchant, carelessly. “It’s all very fine, and if he were in the Whig party, he’d be a man of mark. It’s a pity, as I always say, to see such wonderful ability wasted.”
“How did Mr. Lafitte enjoy it, sir?” asked Emily, blandly.
“Oh, he—well, I was rather amused at the way he took it,” responded Mr. Atkins, laughing. “It quite upset him, and in his hot, Southern way, he said Phillips ought to be shot. In fact, I thought Lafitte was rather thin-skinned about it, though, to be sure, Phillips’s words are enough to try a saint. Anyhow, Lafitte felt ’em rankle.”