"How good it is! Oh, how good it is!" shouted Tyltyl, who was eating greedily. "I want some more! More! More! More!"
"Come, come, a little more quiet," said Grandad. "You're just as ill-behaved as ever; and you'll break your plate...."
Tyltyl took no notice of the remark, stood up on his stool, caught hold of the tureen and dragged it towards him and upset it; and the hot soup trickled all over the table and down upon everybody's lap. The children yelled and screamed with pain. Granny was quite scared; and Grandad was furious. He dealt our friend Tyltyl a tremendous box on the ear.
Tyltyl was staggered for a moment; and then he put his hand to his cheek with a look of rapture and exclaimed:
"Grandad, how good, how jolly! It was just like the slaps you used to give me when you were alive!... I must give you a kiss for it!..."
Everybody laughed.
"There's more where that came from, if you like them!" said Grandad, grumpily.
But he was touched, all the same, and turned to wipe a tear from his eyes.
"Goodness!" cried Tyltyl, starting up. "There's half- past eight striking!... Mytyl, we've only just got time!..."
Granny in vain implored them to stay a few minutes longer.