"They are not, either!" Herbert retorted hotly. "They're about the finest insecks that you or anybody else ever saw, and you ought to be ashamed——"
"I ought?" his cousin cried. "Well, I should think you're the one ought to be ashamed, if anybody ought! Down here in the cellar playin' with all these vile bugs that ought to be given their liberty, or thrown down the sewer, or somep'n!" Again, as she peered through the lens, she shuddered. "Vile——"
"Florence," he said sternly, "you lay down that magnifying-glass."
"Why?"
"Because you don't know how to handle it. A magnifying-glass has got to be handled in just the right way, and you couldn't learn if you tried a thousand years. That's a mighty fine magnifying-glass, and I don't intend to have it ruined."
"Why, just lookin' through it can't spoil it, can it?" she inquired, surprised.
"You lay it down," said Herbert darkly. "Lookin' through it the wrong way isn't going to do it any good."
"Why, how could just lookin' through it——"
"Lookin' through it the wrong way isn't goin' to help it any, I tell you!" he insisted. "You're old enough to know that, and I'm not goin' to have my magnifying-glass spoiled and all my insecks wasted just because of a mere whin of yours!"
"A what?"