"And did nobody help you or speak to you?" questioned the two young sisters, coming up nearer to sit at his feet.
"I had help enough," said Magnus, softly twanging the strings of his banjo. "Everybody from the Com. to the third-class corporals bade me brace up. And if I wanted a lonely walk in the open air on Saturday, I had only to wear my hair long and dishevelled as a sign of grief, and they'd give to me without asking. And if I dead-beat and went to the Hospital to get a chance to mope a little, Dr. Pestle would give me some compound to make me sick, lest I should lose my time and be down there for nothing. The Tacs were so afraid I should 'wet my couch with briny tears' that they made me keep the old thing tight rolled up till bed time. I was too tired to cry, then."
"The best that could be, Rosy. They made me mad, and then I was all right."
"I should call that poor comfort," said Violet.
"Nothing like it, however," said Magnus. "Dries up your feelings quicker than fourteen pocket-handkerchiefs. You owe the world one, and you mean to live till you pay it. So suicide can wait."
"Magnus, I wish you would not talk so," Cherry said appealingly.
"Now there is Cerise," Magnus went on. "If I could once make her thoroughly angry with me, she wouldn't mind anything else that happened. The thing is how. I haven't found out yet."
"And you never will," said Rose. "You cannot do it."
"I cannot, hey? That is good to know. Gives me great freedom of action. I'll store up the information for future use."