Then Mr. Cole came in as was his daily habit—for a moment before his breakfast.
“Well, here are you all,” he cried. “Ready for to-night? No breakfast yet? Why, now...?”
Then perceiving, as all practised fathers instantly must, that the atmosphere was sinful, he changed his voice to that of the Children's Sunday Afternoon Service—a voice well known in his family.
“Please, sir,” began the Jampot, “I'm sorry to 'ave to tell you, sir, that Master Jeremy's not been at all good this morning.”
“Well, Jeremy,” he said, turning to his son, “what is it?”
Jeremy's face, raised to his father's, was hard and set and sullen.
“I've told a lie,” he said; “I said I'd cleaned my teeth when I hadn't. Nurse went and looked, and then I called her a beastly woman.”
The Jampot's face expressed a grieved and at the same time triumphant confirmation of this.
“You told a lie?” Mr. Cole's voice was full of a lingering sorrow.
“Yes,” said Jeremy.