“Mercy, Bobby! how slangy you are getting,” murmured Nell Agnew, the doctor’s daughter.
“You think I cannot be serious?” demanded Bobby, very gravely. “Listen here. Here is what I call ‘The Lay of the Last Minorca’—not the ‘Last Minstrel!’
“‘She laid the still white form beside those that had gone before,’” quoth Bobby, in sepulchral tone.
“‘No sob, no sigh, forced its way from her heart, throbbing as though it would burst.
“‘Suddenly a cry broke the stillness of the place—a single heartbreaking shriek, which seemed to well up from her very soul, as she left the place:
“‘“Cut, cut, cut-ah-out!”
“‘She would lay another egg to-morrow.’”
“You ridiculous girl!” exclaimed Laura. “Aren’t you ever serious at all?”
“My light manner hides a breaking hear-r-r-t,” croaked Bobby. “You don’t know me, Laura, as I really are!”
“Don’t want to,” declared Laura Belding, briskly. “It must be awful to be a humorist. All right, Eve. We’ll come on Saturday. Chet will see Mr. Purcell about the big car. Lake Luna is frozen only at the edges, and is unsafe. But we will have a good time at Peveril Pond.”