Part 28 (1/2)

”And have a representation of the machine-shop there,” said his companion. ”The nabobs will think you are crazy to come there without your broadcloth.”

”Perhaps they would think my broadcloth was too coa.r.s.e if I should wear it. But if they go to see my suit instead of hearing the eulogy, they are welcome to the sight.”

”You will have to lose more time than you expect to; for there will be such a crowd that you cannot get in unless you go early; and you will have to go without your dinner too.”

”Dinner is nothing,” replied Nat. ”It will not be the first time I have gone without my dinner, and supper too. I can leave here at half past eleven o'clock and be in season for the eulogy, and find a place to hear into the bargain. A very small place will hold me at such a time.”

”But I prefer a chance to breathe when I can have it as well as not. It is no pleasure to me to go into such a crowd to hear the best speaker in the world. But every one to his taste.”

”Yes,” responded Nat; ”and my taste is right the reverse. I would suffer a pretty good squeezing, and go dinnerless besides, to hear John Quincy Adams speak. I shall try it anyhow.”

Nat was usually quite particular in regard to his personal appearance on public occasions. If his best suit had been at hand, he could not have been persuaded to go to hear the eulogy in his working apparel. But he was at work here only a short time, and was at home on the sabbath, so that he provided himself with only his laboring suit. And now we see how strong was his desire to hear the distinguished statesman; for it overcame his regard for his personal appearance so far that he was willing to appear in that a.s.sembly wearing his machine-shop apparel, rather than forego the pleasure of an intellectual pastime.

At the appointed time, on the day of the eulogy, Nat dropped his tools, and proceeded to wash himself, and make ready to go.

”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 s.p.a.cious building. If he had actually wanted to have skulked into some corner, it would have been impossible; for the a.s.sembly was so dense that he had no alternative but to remain stationary, or to be carried along by the ma.s.s. It so happened that he joined the mult.i.tude 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 circ.u.mstance 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.”

”And then,” added the first speaker, ”a fellow who will go without his dinner to hear a speech must have a pretty good appet.i.te for knowledge, unless he is obliged to diet.”

”He'll have a good appet.i.te for supper, I'm thinking,” said another, rather dryly.

Nat heard the eulogy, and was back again to his work within three hours.

There were some smiling faces as he entered the shop, and he could very readily read the thoughts behind them.

”Was you in time?” inquired the fellow-workman with whom he had the conversation about going.