"Military slang aside, Fons. His mother is cosseting him and making a sort of an inspired idiot of him, most assuredly she is. He _is_ a beauty--too much of a beauty for a boy; but he will never be fit for business. But mothers never think of things in a business way and Mrs. Cornwallis is the main spoke in Cornwallis' wheel, most assuredly she is." "A wheel of domesticity all around I should judge," laughed Fons. "Cornwallis is no business man." "No, Fons--only a counter of other men's gains--no independent money-maker, so to speak. He would refuse to make money in your kind of business or mine either. He makes a terrible hullabaloo every time a little ragamuffin gets hurt with blank cartridges or toy pistols. He wants the manufactories shut down at once. He'd rather take the risk of having six youngsters starved to death, than to have one die of lockjaw." "I should say he ought to have the lockjaw himself and any other man who uses his jaw for the repression of legitimate trade. Faugh! we've no use for such effeminates on this end of the planet where more big manufactories are needed to keep it well balanced. I should like to see _his_ jaw locked up." "O no! not quite so bad as that, Fons." "Yes, worse than that," continued Fons angrily. "Shut up our own manufactories and send abroad for Fourth of July fireworks! That's the kind of business fiend or fool he is--send to the English for things to celebrate our victory over them. Bah!" "But we never have, Fons--that is to any ridiculous extent--any alarming extent, so to speak?" "But we will if the idiots that would _shut down_ our Pyrotechnic manufactories are not _shut up_. The London Pyro-king is trying to king it here now by catering to the Independence Day sentiment. He hates it, but he is going to coin money out of it all the same--the viper!" "Head him off, then! Rule him out! We ought to manufacture our own implements--especially the patriotic ones and handle them too and teach our boys how to handle them. If we would teach them how to _be_ brave and do brave things--really dare to do them, it would be better all around--the planet included, most assuredly it would." Fons made no reply to Schwarmer's rather ragged reasoning, but when he got to the top of the hill he broke out: "Excuse me. I'm going back to see if I can't put a little of the dare devil stuff into that all too goodish boy. I must have a little fun out of him anyway." "Don't be gone long, Fons. You must be here when your patriotic stuffs are unloaded. I don't care to be near enough to smell powder if they should be handled too roughly or by the wrong end." "It's the little idiot that sits down on my trade that will be likely to smell of the powdered beauties," laughed Fons sardonically. "Have a care, youngster. You can't cut up here as you can in the city without having it known."