"We shall take possession of the Moon ourselves!" cried Ardan.
"Lunarians or no Lunarians!"
"We three shall constitute a Republic!" cried M'Nicholl.
"I shall be the House!" cried Ardan.
"And I the Senate!" answered the Captain.
"And Barbican our first President!" shrieked the Frenchman.
"Our first and last!" roared M'Nicholl.
"No objections to a third term!" yelled Ardan.
"He's welcome to any number of terms he pleases!" vociferated M'Nicholl.
"Hurrah for President Barbican of the Lunatic--I mean of the Lunar
Republic!" screamed Ardan.
"Long may he wave, and may his shadow never grow less!" shouted Captain
M'Nicholl, his eyes almost out of their sockets.
Then with voices reminding you of sand fiercely blown against the window
panes, the _President_ and the _Senate_ chanted the immortal _Yankee
Doodle_, whilst the _House_ delivered itself of the _Marseillaise_, in a
style which even the wildest Jacobins in Robespierre's day could hardly
have surpassed.
But long before either song was ended, all three broke out into a
dance, wild, insensate, furious, delirious, paroxysmatical. No Orphic
festivals on Mount Cithaeron ever raged more wildly.
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