The Bobbin Boy; or, How Nat Got His learning

by William Makepeace Thayer

"Then you are determined to go?" said his companion.

"Yes; I never shall have a better chance to hear the sage of Quincy. I would like to show him a little more respect by donning my best suit if I could, but as it is, he must take the will for the deed."

"You'll cut a dash there among the gentry, I reckon, and perhaps receive more attention than the orator himself. They'll think you are some fellow who has got into the wrong pew."

"You had better conclude to go with me," said Nat, "and enjoy the sight. You will never know how much of a sensation I do create unless you are there to see."

"I'd rather be excused," replied his companion. "I can imagine enough here; besides I like a good dinner too well to go."

Nat hastened to Federal Street, and found the people crowding in very rapidly, and the exercises about commencing. He joined the throng, and was soon borne along with the current into the spacious building. If he had actually wanted to have skulked into some corner, it would have been impossible; for the assembly was so dense that he had no alternative but to remain stationary, or to be carried along by the mass. It so happened that he joined the multitude just in season to be borne well along into the area of the building, in front of the rostrum; and there he was in his working apparel, in full view of hundreds of eyes. Yet he scarcely thought of his clothing in his eagerness to hear the eulogy. It was upon the character of one with whose political life he was quite familiar, and this circumstance increased his interest. His old suit did not at all impair his sense of hearing, nor obscure the language of the orator. He never heard better in his life, and, in but few instances, never felt himself better paid for his effort to hear an oration.

It was known in the shop, before work began in the afternoon, that Nat had gone just as he was to hear the eulogy, and it created some merriment.

"He is a real book-worm," said one; "he always carries a book in his pocket to read when he is not at work."

"Well, I can hardly make out what he is, for he never says much," said another. "He seems to be thinking about something all the time, and yet he attends to his work. He is a queer genius, I guess."

"He is no ignoramus, you may depend on that," said a third. "A chap with such an eye as his knows his P's and Q's. He says little, and thinks the more."