Yes. You had done your best, and now was it for you or yours to discourage Providence? But father rashly plunged ahead.
“I guess you’d better rake and have it done with. Then you can go.”
“I promised Snoopie and Fat I’d go to-morrow. Fishin’ will be dandy to-morrow. It’s always best right after a rain.”
You had begun to whine.
“John!”
When father said “John!” in that tone, and with one exclamation-point, it indicated that your cause was finally and flatly dismissed. An additional exclamation-point might mean committal for contempt. Accordingly, unwilling to provoke this, after sniffling a moment, on the safe side of his newspaper, and morosely kicking the porch railing, you stalked off, slamming behind you the inoffensive gate, and quite ripe for any desperate deed that could readily be undone, if necessary.
The next day dawned splendidly. Never was a better fishing day—never! Never would be another so good—never! Yet father and mother did not seem to care, and ate breakfast as indifferently as though raking the yard was fully as much fun for a boy as pulling out bullheads!
From in front somebody whistled persistently.
“There’s Snoopie. He wants me to go,” you reminded.
Still remained time for a revision of the program, if—if—