"Ac'climated," Mr. Appel maintained, obstinately. "At least with your kind permission I shall continue to so pronounce it."
"I beg your pardon," Mr. Stott apologized with elaborate sarcasm, "but when I am wrong I like to be told of it." Which was not the strict truth for the reason that no one ever was able to convince him that he ever was mistaken. As a result of the discussion everyone was afraid to use the word for fear of offending one or the other.
The silence that followed while breakfast was being placed upon the table was broken by Miss Eyester, who said timidly:
"In the night I thought I heard something sniffing, and it frightened me."
Not to be outdone in sensational experiences, Mrs. Stott averred positively:
"There was some wild animal running over our tent. I could hear its sharp claws sticking into the canvas. A coyote, I fancy."
"A ground-squirrel, more likely," remarked Mr. Appel.
Mr. Stott smiled at him:
"Squee-rrel, if you will allow me to again correct you."
"I guess I can't help myself," replied Mr. Appel, drily.