A unanimous sigh greeted the close of _Guy
Mannering_. It was the narrator's reward--the same
which the orator hears, when, in a pause of speech,
the strained attention relaxes, and the people,
slowly bent forward like a field of corn across
which the wind blows, settle back into their
places.
"A jolly ending--and the cave part was ripping!"
summed up Hugh John, nodding his head in grave
approval of Sir Walter, "but why can't he always
write like that?"
"Couldn't keep it up," suggested Sir Toady Lion;
"books can't all be caves, you know."
"Well, anyhow, I'm not going to play any more
heroes," said Hugh John, emphatically. "I bags
Hatteraick--when we get out to the Den!"
The young man intimated by these cabalistic words
that the part of Hatteraick was to be his in any
future play-acting.
"Which being interpreted," said Sweetheart, with
spirit, "means that I am to be Gilbert Faa the
gipsy, and Glossin, and all these nasty sort of
people. Now I don't mind Meg Merrilies a bit. And
being shot like that--that's always something. But
I warn you, Hugh John, that if you were Hatteraick
ten times over, you couldn't get me down over that
iron bar!"
"No, that you couldn't," said Sir Toady Lion,
seeing a far-off chance for himself; "why,
Sweetheart could just batter your head against the
wall! And then when Mac-Guffog came in the morning
with his lantern, he'd find that old Hatteraick
hadn't any need to go and hang himself! But don't
you two squabble over it; _I_ will do Hatteraick
myself!"
"A very likely thing!" sneered Hugh John. "You
heard me say 'Bags Hatteraick,' Toady Lion! Every
one heard me--you can't go back on that. You know
you can't!"
This was unanswerable. It was felt that to palter
with such sacred formulas would be to renounce the
most sacred obligations and to unsettle the very
foundations of society.
Whereupon I hastened to keep his Majesty's peace by
proposing a compromise.
"The girls surely don't want to play the villains'
parts," I began.
"Oh, but just don't they!" ejaculated Maid
Margaret, with the eyes of a child-saint
momentarily disappointed of Paradise. "Why does a
cat not eat butter for breakfast every morning?
Because it jolly well can't get it."
"Well, at any rate," said I, severely, "girls
oughtn't to _want_ to play the villains' parts."
"No," said Sweetheart, with still, concentrated
irony, "they ought always to do just what boys tell
them to, of course--never think of wanting anything
that boys want, and always be thankful for boys'
leavings! U-m-m! _I_ know!"
"You should wait till you hear what I meant to say,
Sweetheart," I went on, with as much dignity as I
could muster. "There are plenty of characters you
will like to be, in every one of the books, but I
think it would be fair always to draw lots for the
first choice!"
"Yes--yes--oh, yes!" came the chorus, from three of
the party. But Hugh John, strong in the
indefeasible rights of man, only repeated, "_I_
said 'Bags Hatteraick!'"
"Well, then," I said, "for this time Hatteraick is
yours, but for the future it will be fairer to draw
lots for first choice."
"All right," growled Hugh John; "then I suppose
I'll have to put up with a lot more heroes!
Milksops, I call them!"
"Which book shall we have next?" said Sweetheart,
who was beginning to be rather ashamed of her heat.
"I don't believe that you could tell us _Rob Roy!_"
"Well, I can try," said I, modestly. For so it
behooves a modern parent to behave in the presence
of his children.
"_She_," said Hugh John, pointing directly at his
sister, "she read nearly half the book aloud, and
we never came to Rob at all. That's why she asks
for _Rob Roy_."
"But there's all about Alan Breck in the
preface--ripping, it is!" interpolated Sir Toady,
who had been doing some original research, "tell us
about him."
But Alan Breck was quite another story, and I said
so at once. _Rob Roy_ they had asked for. _Rob Roy_
they should have. And then I would stand or fall by
their judgment.