“'Excited!'” he cried, incredulously. “Do you think I'm EXCITED? Ye gods!” He smote his hands together and, in his despair of her intelligence, would have flung himself down upon a chair, but was arrested half-way by simultaneous loud outcries from his mother and Jane.
“Don't sit on the CAKES!” they both screamed.
Saving himself and the pan of wafers by a supreme contortion at the last instant, William decided to remain upon his feet. “What do I care for the cakes?” he demanded, contemptuously, beginning to pace the floor. “It's the question of principle I'm talking about! Do you think it's right to give the people of this town a poor name when strangers like Miss PRATT come to vis—”
“Willie!” His mother looked at him hopelessly. “Do go and brush your hair. If you could see how you've tousled it you would.”
He gave her a dazed glance and strode from the room.
Jane looked after him placidly. “Didn't he talk funny!” she murmured.
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Baxter. She shook her head and uttered the enigmatic words, “They do.”
“I mean Willie, mamma,” said Jane. “If it's anything about Miss Pratt. he always talks awful funny. Don't you think Willie talks awful funny if it's anything about Miss Pratt, mamma?”
“Yes, but—”
“What, mamma?” Jane asked as her mother paused.