The fit passed:  business languished; became extinct.  The dog-days had set in.

One August afternoon was so hot that even boys sought indoor shade.  In the dimness of the vacant carriage-house of the stable, lounged Masters Penrod Schofield, Samuel Williams, Maurice Levy, Georgie Bassett, and Herman.  They sat still and talked.  It is a hot day, in rare truth, when boys devote themselves principally to conversation, and this day was that hot.

Their elders should beware such days.  Peril hovers near when the fierceness of weather forces inaction and boys in groups are quiet.  The more closely volcanoes, Western rivers, nitroglycerin, and boys are pent, the deadlier is their action at the point of outbreak.  Thus, parents and guardians should look for outrages of the most singular violence and of the most peculiar nature during the confining weather of February and August.

The thing which befell upon this broiling afternoon began to brew and stew peacefully enough.  All was innocence and languor; no one could have foretold the eruption.

They were upon their great theme:  “When I get to be a man!” Being human, though boys, they considered their present estate too commonplace to be dwelt upon.  So, when the old men gather, they say:  “When I was a boy!” It really is the land of nowadays that we never discover.

“When I’m a man,” said Sam Williams, “I’m goin’ to hire me a couple of coloured waiters to swing me in a hammock and keep pourin’ ice-water on me all day out o’ those waterin’-cans they sprinkle flowers from.  I’ll hire you for one of ’em, Herman.”

“No; you ain’ goin’ to,” said Herman promptly.  “You ain’ no flowuh.  But nev’ min’ nat, anyway.  Ain’ nobody goin’ haih me whens I’m a man.  Goin’ be my own boss. I’m go’ be a rai’road man!”

“You mean like a superintendent, or sumpthing like that, and sell tickets?” asked Penrod.

“Sup’in—­nev’ min’ nat!  Sell ticket?  No suh!  Go’ be a PO’tuh!  My uncle a po’tuh right now.  Solid gole buttons—­oh, oh!”

“Generals get a lot more buttons than porters,” said Penrod.  “Generals——­”

“Po’tuhs make the bes’ l’vin’,” Herman interrupted.  “My uncle spen’ mo’ money ’n any white man n’is town.”

“Well, I rather be a general,” said Penrod, “or a senator, or sumpthing like that.”

“Senators live in Warshington,” Maurice Levy contributed the information.  “I been there.  Warshington ain’t so much; Niag’ra Falls is a hundred times as good as Warshington.  So’s ’Tlantic City, I was there, too.  I been everywhere there is.  I——­”

“Well, anyway,” said Sam Williams, raising his voice in order to obtain the floor, “anyway, I’m goin’ to lay in a hammock all day, and have ice-water sprinkled on top o’ me, and I’m goin’ to lay there all night, too, and the next day.  I’m goin’ to lay there a couple o’ years, maybe.”

“I bet you don’t!” exclaimed Maurice.  “What’d you do in winter?”