There was a grunt from the sofa cushion that might be interpreted at will as negative or affirmative.
Nell came into the room, her hat swung over her arm.
“Get up, John,” she said; “what a horrid boy you are! Look at your great muddy boots on the [19] ]sofa! Meg, I don’t know how you could sit there and see him. Why, if we sat down, we’d get our dresses all spoiled.”
“Good job too,” said John, not moving a hand.
Nellie regarded him with frankest disgust. “What a collar!” she said, a world of emphasis on the “what.” “I declare the street newsboys and match-sellers look more gentlemanly than you do.”
The tea-bell rang upstairs; John sat up instantly.
“I hope you saved me more pudding to-day, Meg,” he said. “I never saw such a stingy bit as you kept yesterday.”
Nell’s scarlet lips formed themselves into something very like “pig” as she turned on her heel to leave the room. Then she said “Clumsy wretch!” with startling suddenness. John had set his “great muddy boot” down on one of her pretty flounces, and a sound of sundering stitches smote the air.
“Beg pardon,” said John, with a fiendish light of triumph in his eyes. Then he went upstairs two steps at a time to discuss his warmed-up dinner while the others had tea.