“’Here, stop that.’”
“Oh, all right,” said Bobbert testily, jerking the baby away from the high fender. “And they’re popping corn over the fire in there; I heard it pop. And Aunt Helena said that it was so good sugared, and that fat one—the one with the yellow mustache—said that he should think all that she ate would taste——”
“How do you know what they said?”
“I heard.”
“How?”
“I heard.”
“How did you hear?”
“Through the key-hole!” Bobbert set his jaw and twisted a piece of the baby’s dress nervously.
“And since when have you adopted that method of obtaining information, Robertson?”
“I don’t care! I only did a moment! I don’t care if it is sneaky—I might just as well be sneaky if I’m not going to Annapolis! If I do anything at all, everybody says: ‘Oh dear! I’m afraid you’ll never be a lieutenant, after all. They never do so!’ And if I say I’m going to be one, they say, ‘I wouldn’t count on it, Bobbert,’ till I’m just sick and tired! Am I going to Annapolis? Am I? I don’t care about the old tree if I know that.”