Clif fastened on the shoes and turned the chair upside down, so that it could not be climbed on again. Whereupon Richie devoted fresh attention to his eldest brother.
“Div Richie ze ickie boat,” he said coaxingly.
“I’m sure,” said Clif, and gathered it jealously to him.
Alf rushed up clamouring.
“I want to play with the boat,” he said.
“Here, cut—go and play,” Clif said, and lifted his boat for safety out of reach.
The afternoon had been terribly hot, and the poor little fellows, between sandflies and mosquitoes and heat, were cross and tired.
“[Wants ze boat,]” repeated Richie, his voice risen suddenly to crying pitch, and his eyes weeping tears. [58]
]“Give us the boat,” cried Alf in chorus.
Clif retreated towards the door, glowering at the idea of sacrilege.
“Clif,” said his mother, between the baby’s fresh screams, “don’t be selfish; lend the boat to your little brothers.”