George's legs being lost to him, the dog appeared
inclined to console himself with mine. I went and sat beside George
on the table.
Sitting with your feet drawn up in front of you, on a small and
rickety one-legged table, is a most trying exercise, especially if you
are not used to it. George and I both felt our position keenly. We
did not like to call out for help, and bring the family down. We were
proud young men, and we feared lest, to the unsympathetic eye of the
comparative stranger, the spectacle we should present might not prove
imposing.
We sat on in silence for about half an hour, the dog keeping a
reproachful eye upon us from the nearest chair, and displaying
elephantine delight whenever we made any movement suggestive of
climbing down.
At the end of the half hour we discussed the advisability of "chancing
it," but decided not to. "We should never," George said, "confound
foolhardiness with courage."
"Courage," he continued--George had quite a gift for maxims--"courage
is the wisdom of manhood; foolhardiness, the folly of youth."
He said that to get down from the table while that dog remained in the
room, would clearly prove us to be possessed of the latter quality; so
we restrained ourselves, and sat on.
We sat on for over an hour, by which time, having both grown careless
of life and indifferent to the voice of Wisdom, we did "chance it;"
and throwing the table-cloth over our would-be murderer, charged for
the door and got out.
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