A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
that, and hasn't quite fetched around yet, and is sort of numb, and can't just get his
bearings. Then they stood up the mast they called a spear, in its socket by my left foot,
and I gripped it with my hand; lastly they hung my shield around my neck, and I was all
complete and ready to up anchor and get to sea. Everybody was as good to me as they
could be, and a maid of honor gave me the stirrup-cup her own self. There was nothing
more to do now, but for that damsel to get up behind me on a pillion, which she did, and
put an arm or so around me to hold on.
And so we started, and everybody gave us a goodbye and waved their handkerchiefs or
helmets. And everybody we met, going down the hill and through the village was
respectful to us, except some shabby little boys on the outskirts. They said:
"Oh, what a guy!" And hove clods at us.
In my experience boys are the same in all ages. They don't respect anything, they don't
care for anything or anybody. They say "Go up, baldhead" to the prophet going his
unoffending way in the gray of antiquity; they sass me in the holy gloom of the Middle
Ages; and I had seen them act the same way in Buchanan's administration; I remember,
because I was there and helped. The prophet had his bears and settled with his boys; and I
wanted to get down and settle with mine, but it wouldn't answer, because I couldn't have
got up again. I hate a country without a derrick.