“You heard what I said,” cried Chris. “It isn’t a fly.”
“What is it, then?” said Ned, who kept on rubbing hard at the inflamed part. “A bit of grit or dust?”
“No, it’s a fib, and it’s in both your eyes.”
“What?”
“There, don’t keep on whating about it. I can see it quite plainly.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” cried Ned hurriedly. “Can’t you see how it hurts me?”
“Yes; but you needn’t have told a cram about it.”
“What should I tell an untruth for?” cried Ned hotly.
“Because you wanted to cheat me into using the glass because you thought I was hurt and disappointed.”
“I tell you one of my eyes smarts horribly.”