"I say one thing, George," says he with a flushing face.
"Say twenty things, Don Enrico," cries the other.
"If you are not fond of sporting and that, and don't care for killing game and hunting, being cleverer than me, why shouldst thou not stop at home and be quiet, and let me go out with Colonel George and Mr.
Braddock ?--that's what I say," says Harry, delivering himself of his speech.
The widow looked eagerly from the dark-haired to the fair-haired boy.
She knew not from which she would like to part.
"One of our family must go because honneur oblige, and my name being number one, number one must go first," says George.
"Told you so," said poor Harry.
"One must stay, or who is to look after mother at home?
We cannot afford to be both scalped by Indians or fricasseed by French." "Fricasseed by French!" cries Harry; "the best troops of the world! Englishmen! I should like to see them fricasseed by the French!--What a mortal thrashing you will give them!" and the brave lad sighed to think he should not be present at the battue.
George sate down to the harpsichord and played and sang "Malbrouk s'en va-t-en guerre, Mironton, mironton, mirontaine," at the sound of which music the gentleman from the balcony entered.

"I am playing 'God save the King,' Colonel, in compliment to the new expedition." "I never know whether thou art laughing or in earnest," said the simple gentleman, "but surely methinks that is not the air." George performed ever so many trills and quavers upon his harpsichord, and their guest watched him, wondering, perhaps, that a gentleman of George's condition could set himself to such an effeminate business.
Then the Colonel took out his watch, saying that his Excellency's coach would be here almost immediately, and asking leave to retire to his apartment, and put himself in a fit condition to appear before her ladyship's company.
"Colonel Washington knows the way to his room pretty well," said George, from the harpsichord, looking over his shoulder, but never offering to stir." "Let me show the Colonel to his chamber," cried the widow, in great wrath, and sailed out of the apartment, followed by the enraged and bewildered Colonel, as George continued crashing among the keys.

Her high-spirited guest felt himself insulted, he could hardly say how; he was outraged and he could not speak; he was almost stifling with anger.
Harry Warrington remarked their friend's condition.

"For heaven's sake, George, what does this all mean ?" he asked his brother.

"Why shouldn't he kiss her hand ?" (George had just before fetched out his brother from their library, to watch this harmless salute.) "I tell you it is nothing but common kindness." "Nothing but common kindness!" shrieked out George.