“Papa,” said Mrs. Bearington, “I wish you hadn’t bought the fireworks! Miss Cornwallis has just been telling me the particulars of her little brother’s terrible death. I begin to be awfully worried for fear the boys will hurt themselves.”
“O nonsense, Tishy! You needn’t worry. I will attend to that racket. The Cornwallis’ are cranks on the subject, you may set that down. I have heard Cornwallis talk. He thinks because his little boy got killed other boys should be denied the privilege,” laughed Bearington.
“Privilege, papa!” gasped Mrs. Bearington, looking at him in a way as helpless and childish as her style of addressing him warranted.
“O, you never can take a good round joke, Tishy; but you can stop worrying and you must. You must remember that I paid for this vacation and I am bound you shall not take it out in worriment.”
“Perhaps you could dispose of the fireworks papa—then I could not worry about them.”
“No, he won’t!” shouted Robbie bristling up. “He bought them for us and we are going to have them.”
“Down there! Young America!” said Bearington. “And you Tishy! You forget that we are on English soil. There isn’t any demand here for Independence Day jubilators.”
“Nor for Fourth of July celebrations either, papa. There’s Colonel Jordan. I know he wouldn’t call for one.”
“He can’t help himself though. That’s where the fun will come in. I reckon we will teach this English boarding house that if they have us and our money, they will have to take us, Fourth of July racket and all.”
“But the Cornwallis’, papa. I know how I should feel if we should lose one of our boys in that fearful way.”