In spite of the hurried infantine accent the protest was so emphatic,
and, above all, fraught with such pent-up reproach and disgust, that I
turned about sympathetically. But Johnnyboy had already thrown down his
spoon, slipped from his high chair, and was marching out of the room as
fast as his little sandals would carry him, with indignation bristling
in every line of the crisp bows of his sash.

I, however, gathered from Mr. Johnson, my waiter, that the unfortunate
child owned a fashionable father and mother, one or two blocks of
houses in New York, and a villa at Greyport, which he consistently and
intelligently despised. That he had imperiously brought his parents
here on account of his health, and had demanded that he should breakfast
alone in the big dining-room. That, however, he was not happy. "Nuffin
peahs to agree wid him, Sah, but he doan' cry, and he speaks his mind,
Sah; he speaks his mind."

Unfortunately, I did not keep Johnnyboy's secret, but related the scene
I had witnessed to some of the lighter-hearted Crustaceans of either
sex, with the result that his alliterative protest became a sort of
catchword among them, and that for the next few mornings he had a large
audience of early breakfasters, who fondly hoped for a repetition of
his performance. I think that Johnnyboy for the time enjoyed
this companionship, yet without the least affectation or
self-consciousness--so long as it was unobtrusive. It so chanced,
however, that the Rev. Mr. Belcher, a gentleman with bovine lightness
of touch, and a singular misunderstanding of childhood, chose to
presume upon his paternal functions. Approaching the high chair in which
Johnnyboy was dyspeptically reflecting, with a ponderous wink at the
other guests, and a fat thumb and forefinger on Johnnyboy's table, he
leaned over him, and with slow, elephantine playfulness said:--