“My pants didn’t neever,” returned Jack, sturdily.
“Keep your feet still and your tongue, too.”
“Yes ’m.”
Mrs. Mar was in the act of turning away, after a further slight attention to the carpet patch, when her eye fell upon the handleless cup on the desk.
“Did you do that?” she demanded.
Mar cleared his throat, and Mrs. Mar for once, not waiting to hear the horrid details, sat down in her rocking-chair, despair in her face and the broken cup in her hand.
“I never saw anything like it. The grate in the kitchen range has just collapsed, too.”
“Really? That’s bad—”
“It’s worse than bad—it’s awful.”