“Mamma——”
“Now, that’s enough!” the father interrupted testily. “It’s after eight. You go on up to bed.”
Ludlum’s tone began to indicate a mental strain. “I don’t want to go to bed without my bow-an’-arry!”
“What do you want your bow and arrow when you’re in bed for?”
“I got to have it!”
“See here!” said Mr. Thomas. “You march up to bed and quit talking about your bow and arrow. You can take them with you if you go in there right quick and get them; but whether you do that or not you’ll march to bed inside of one minute from now!”
“I got to have my bow-an’-arry. I got to, to go upstairs with.”
“You don’t want your bow and arrow in bed with you, do you?”
“Mamma!” Thus Ludlum persisted in his urgent appeal to that court in whose clemency he trusted. “Mamma, will you please come get my bow-an’——”
“No, she won’t.”