“Oh, bother the old card!” cried Willie, in a temper, and then there was a battle-royal.
“I knew you’d blot it. There! it’s all spoilt now, and I’ll have to do another one.”
“What did you call me for? You knew I was in a hurry. I’m sorry I signed my old name now. Why didn’t some of the others write it for me? I haven’t got time for fooling about writing on old cards.”
“You’ve got as much time as any of us, and you’re real ugly—that’s what you are.”
“Oh! ugly, am I? Well, I’ve got plenty of mates, and I’m sorry I gave my half-crown now.”
“All right, then; I’ll tell Eileen what you said, and she’ll give it back to you.”
She jumped up to run off and find Eileen.
“No, you don’t!” cried Willie, now ashamed of himself. “You know I didn’t mean it. Just like a girl—running off to tell tales, and pretendin’ you think a fellow means what he says; here, let’s see if we can’t fix it up. I’ll get the loan of old Joe’s knife, and we’ll scrape the blot out.”
“No, that wouldn’t do.”
“Well, what about wiping it up with blotting paper?”