Charles’ lips curled with disdain; his nostrils dilated; virtuous indignation strove for utterance. But he knew that he could not look so injured that the boy would hang his head in shame; so he resolved to annihilate him by a single word. To gain time to hit on an expression sufficiently awful, he demanded threateningly:
“What do you mean, Sir?”
Jim’s nerves were always weak, and this jeering question so unstrung them that he spoke the first words that occurred to him. (By the way, the phrase was a favorite one of his, one that he used on all occasions; and according to the tone in which he said it, it implied either doubt, indifference, petulance, fear, or profanity!)
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” is what he said.
“You hadn’t better!” Stephen thundered with lowering brow.
The reason why Steve espoused Charley’s cause so readily was because the boys still teased him about the donkey; and he rejoiced to find that another—that other his schoolfellow Charles—could be guilty of the misdemeanor of playing tricks. Truly, the abusive adage, “Misery loves company,” is right.
“It is bad enough for the store-keeper to handle the poor woman’s raisins; and Charley’s fingers don’t look so clean as a store-keeper’s, even;” George observed tauntingly.
“I guess Charley’s fingers are cleaner than Tim’s” retorted Stephen, always eager to play the part of champion to some aggrieved wight, especially so now.
But Charles perceived that his joke was not appreciated as it should have been; and he turned beseechingly to Will, his firm upholder in all things. “Will,” he said, “what do you think about it? Did I do wrong?”
Thus appealed to, Will made answer: “Capital joke, Charley; but you have begun your career as a reformer rather early in life.”