Fulrake fetched the water, and depositing the pails, said to Annie, in a tone which seemed to her to have a perceptible sneer in it,—
“I’m sure I beg your pardon; I had no idea he was a friend of yours.”
“I said a friend of ours,” replied Annie, who was now rather amused by noticing the peculiar way in which the little man carried his two heavy buckets.
“Yes, but by the way you fired up I think I must have trod on some soft place.”
“You are treading in one now,” retorted Annie, with a laugh, “spilling all the water about like that; why, you will quite spoil your dandy shoes; they must be wet through.”
“Very well. Shall I call Mr. Stanley, then?” said Fulrake, who felt that he was getting the worst of it.
“Yes, if you like; he is not so clumsy. And then you can go in and change your shoes.”
This last was a crusher to our new chum, who was not accustomed to be snubbed or talked to in this way. However, determined to take himself off decently, with his front to the fair foe, he was stepping backwards; but forgetting, in his retreat, that one of the buckets of water was behind him, he came against it, overturned it, and found himself partly sitting in the bucket and wholly in a pool of water.
“I’m so sorry,” cried Annie, scarcely able to prevent herself from going into fits of laughter.
“Don’t mention it, Miss Bell,” called back Fulrake, who was now walking rapidly away, as he muttered the following lecture to himself:—