_Rowell._ Mr. Jenks, I really must insist—
_Hosea._ You can't stand it, hey? Then we'll move on. Sonny, stand by the flag. I'm going, going, gone. Ha, ha, ha! [_Exit, followed by_ ROWELL, _door in flat_.]
_Hiram_ (_stands_ C., _and looks after them_). Sonny, sonny! Well, if the old man keeps on his degenerating pace, he'll be in his second childhood in six months. Calls me a boy, a mere boy: twenty last month. Keeps me in a short jacket, and shorter pantaloons. Makes me keep my hair sandpapered like an urchin of ten. It's about time this thing was stopped. If my arm creeps through this jacket much farther, I'm very much afraid it will rise in indignation, and smite my aged sire. "Honor your parents" is a very good maxim, but it may be carried a little too far. I'd go into the army, but he won't let me; swears I shall stand by the old flag. (_Clasps the auction-flag in his arms._) No matter: it's only a year, and I am free. Ah! here's Mattie Trueworth, a girl I would lay down my life for, and who laughs at me. Heigho! if I wasn't a boy, I should be very much in love with her. How d'ye do, Mattie? (_Enter_ MATTIE R.)
_Hiram._ Yes, it's me, Mattie: the standard-bearer, (_pompously_) bearing the old flag, that has conquered in so many battles; under whose folds so many household gods have fallen, never to rise again.
_Mattie._ Pshaw! you'd look more manly bearing the flag of your country.
_Hiram._ S'pect I would, Mattie: it's what I'd like. But dad says No.
_Mattie._ Oh, indeed! a dutiful son, truly. The house is sold: why do you wait here?
_Hiram._ To get a word with you, Mattie. I've a great admiration for you. If I dared, I would tell you that I love you. (_Places flag in_ R. _corner back_.)
_Mattie._ Don't you dare do any such thing. You must know I detest you, a mere boy; why, you're not yet out of jacket and trousers!
_Hiram_ (_stretching up his arms_). You're mistaken, Mattie: I'm a long way out of them.
_Hiram._ That's just what dad says, Mattie; but he's awfully mistaken. He's old and queer, so I think it no harm to humor his fancies, though I do get laughed at. He does not know, that, long after he's asleep, the fool is studying by candle-light, way into the night; that, while he's about his business, the fool's ears are open, and his eyes sharp set, watching the kinks and tricks of trade. Only a year, Mattie, and I shall be free,—free to laugh at him, free to win you.