“But—”
“There, never mind,” grumbled Bob; “we won’t go.”
“But I didn’t say I wouldn’t come, Bob,” whispered Dexter desperately. “I’ll come.”
There was no answer.
“Bob.” Still silence.
“I say, don’t go, Bob. I’m very sorry. I’m undressing as fast as I can. You haven’t gone, have you?”
Still silence, and Dexter ceased undressing, and stood there in the cold night air, feeling as desolate, despairing, and forlorn as boy could be.
“What shall I do?” he said to himself; and then, in a despondent whisper, “Bob!”
“Hullo!”
“Why, you haven’t gone!” joyfully.