Florence sighed. "No, mamma, it cert'nly wasn't."
"They weren't rude to you?"
"Yes, they cert'nly were!"
"Well, then——"
"Mamma, can't you understand?" Florence turned from the window to beseech Mrs. Atwater's concentration upon the matter. "It isn't 'playing'! I didn't want to 'play' being a reporter; they ain't 'playing'——"
"Aren't playing, Florence."
"Yes'm. They're not. Herbert's got a real printing-press; Uncle Joseph gave it to him. It's a real one, mamma, can't you understand?"
"I'll try," said Mrs. Atwater. "You mustn't get so excited about it, Florence."
"I'm not!" Florence returned vehemently. "I guess it'd take more than those two vile things and their old printing-press to get me excited! I don't care what they do; it's far less than nothing to me! All I wish is they'd fall off the fence and break their vile ole necks!"
With this manifestation of impersonal calmness, she turned again to the window; but her mother protested. "Do quit watching those foolish boys; you mustn't let them upset you so by their playing."