“I was tying a tin-kettle to his tail,” said Ben, a little reluctantly.
“And what was you a doing that for?” pursued the Squire.
“I wanted to see how he would look,” said Ben, glancing demurely at his father, out of the corner of his eye.
“Did it ever occur to you that it must be disagreeable to Watch to have such an appendage to his tail?” queried the Squire.
“I don't know,” said Ben.
“How should you like to have a tin pail suspended to your—ahem! your coat tail?”
“I haven't got any coat tail,” said Ben, “I wear jackets. But I think I am old enough to wear coats. Can't I have one made, father?”
“Ahem!” said the Squire, blowing his nose, “we will speak of that at some future period.”
“Fred Newell wears a coat, and he isn't any older than I am,” persisted Ben, who was desirous of interrupting his father's inquiries.
“I apprehend that we are wandering from the question,” said the Squire. “Would you like to be treated as you treated Watch?”