“You promised,” continued his father, “that, if you interrupted me three times, you would go out willingly.”
“Yes, sir,” said Rollo, though he was so much in trouble that he could not speak very distinctly; “but I don’t think you ought to call that an interruption.”
“Come to think of it,” replied his father, “perhaps I ought not to. You came and stood by me, very still, so as not to interrupt me, but to wait until I was at leisure.”
“Yes, sir,” said Rollo, still sobbing. “I did not speak a word.”
“Well,” said his father, “I will not count that, then.”
And so saying, he took his pen, and crossed out the third mark, which he made on the paper that contained the record of interruptions. This restored Rollo’s composure, though he still looked very unhappy. He could not imagine why his father should have even intended to have made a mark against him in such a case.
“I see,” said his father, “you and I had a different understanding about the interruptions. You did not speak to me, and interrupt me in the common way; but still, do you suppose that I could go on with my writing, while you were standing there, waiting to speak to me?”
“Why, no, sir,” said Rollo.
“No,” added his father; “so that your coming to me, and waiting to ask me for a pencil, really interrupted my work; and that was the reason why I was going to mark it. But, then, it was not what you have commonly understood by an interruption, and so I ought not to have marked it. And, in fact,” he continued, “now I have given you so much trouble to no purpose, I believe that I will erase all the marks, and begin again. Only now you must understand that you must take care of yourselves altogether, and that, if you do any thing, in any way, to take off my attention from my work, I shall have to mark it.”
“Well, sir,” said Rollo.