Thanks."

The humorist of the house, the tall, raw-boned Billy Nash, caulker from

the navy yard, was standing in the rear of the crowd. In the midst of

the pathetic silence that was now brooding over the place and moving some

few hearts there toward compassion, he began to whimper, then he put his

handkerchief to his eyes and buried his face in the neck of the

bashfulest young fellow in the company, a navy-yard blacksmith, shrieked

Oh, pappy, how could you!" and began to bawl like a teething baby, if

one may imagine a baby with the energy and the devastating voice of a

jackass.

So perfect was that imitation of a child's cry, and so vast the scale of

it and so ridiculous the aspect of the performer, that all gravity was

swept from the place as if by a hurricane, and almost everybody there

joined in the crash of laughter provoked by the exhibition. Then the

small mob began to take its revenge--revenge for the discomfort and

apprehension it had brought upon itself by its own too rash freshness of

a little while before. It guyed its poor victim, baited him, worried

him, as dogs do with a cornered cat. The victim answered back with

defiances and challenges which included everybody, and which only gave

the sport new spirit and variety; but when he changed his tactics and

began to single out individuals and invite them by name, the fun lost its

funniness and the interest of the show died out, along with the noise.

Finally Marsh was about to take an innings, but Barrow said:

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The American Claimant