Abel had seated himself upon the sofa, with his hat still on his head. There was perhaps something in May’s tone that alarmed him, for he began to shed tears.
“Oh! May, don’t you love your poor Abel?”
She looked at him without speaking. At length she said, “Where have you been?”
“I’ve been to General Belch’s,” he sobbed, in reply; “and I don’t mind Aunt Dagon, if you don’t.”
“What do you mean by that, you silly fool?” asked Mrs. Dagon, sharply.
Abel stopped and looked half angry, for a moment, but immediately fell into the old strain.
“I mean I’d just as lieve say it before her.”
“Then say it,” said May.
“Well, May, darling, couldn’t you now just coax Gabriel—good fellow, Gabriel—used to know him and love him at school—couldn’t you coax him to get Uncle Lawrence to do something?”
May shook her head. Abel began to snivel.