“The young scoundrels!” cried Uncle Bob. Pat—that was his fist coming down into his hand. “The young scoundrels!”
“Well, you’ve said that twenty times at least, Bob,” said Uncle Jack.
“Enough to make me!” said Uncle Bob sharply. “The young scoundrels!” Pat.
“I only wish I’d been there with a good handy riding-whip,” said Uncle Jack. “There would have been some wailing among them.”
“Yes; and summonses for assault, and all that bother,” said Uncle Dick. “We don’t want to come to blows, Jack, if we can help it.”
“They are beyond bearing,” cried Uncle Bob, keeping up his walk; “the young scoundrels!” Pat.
“My dear Bob,” cried Uncle Dick, who was very much out of temper; “if you would be kind enough to leave off that trot up and down.”
“Like a hungry lion,” said Uncle Jack.
“In the Zoo,” cried Uncle Dick, “you would very much oblige me.”
“I can’t sit down,” said Uncle Bob, thumping his hand. “I feel too much excited.”