How often Benson
had come in from school, ill-tempered and sour-visaged at something that
had gone wrong in the class-room, only to have that droll face of his
father's and some equally droll remark upset all his dignity and
indignation into laughter and consequent good nature.
"One at a time, boys, just one at a time, or I shall have bustificated
eardrums! What is it all about?"
Then they told him, but, it must be confessed, not one at a time.
"A club, eh?" he questioned, straddling a chair and leaning his arms on
the back. "What kind of a club, pleasure club, improvement club,
sporting club, what?"
"That's the trouble; we can't hit on it!" they chorused.
For a moment he sat silent, his round, childish eyes surveying the world
that hung on his very first words.
"I saw a queer thing as I came up the street to-night", he began,
seemingly having forgotten the subject in hand. "A dray-horse was
standing before the mill gates, and frisking about its heels was a dandy
little cocker spaniel, prettiest little dog you ever saw. The horse got
tired leaning on one leg, I guess, for he shifted his position, and, in
bringing down his left hind leg, he just pinned the little cocker's foot
to the ground with his big hoof.
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