“Happy, indeed!” she repeated, dismally. “There's great chance of its being so, I should think. We don't any of us know what the year may bring forth. We may all be dead before the next New Year.”
“If that's the case,” said Jack, “we'll be jolly as long as it lasts.”
“I don't know what you mean by such a vulgar word,” said Aunt Rachel, disdainfully. “I've heard of drunkards and such kind of people being jolly; but, thank Providence, I haven't got to that yet.”
“If that was the only way to be jolly,” said Jack, stoutly, “then I'd be a drunkard; I wouldn't carry round such a long face as you do, Aunt Rachel, for any money.”
“It's enough to make all of us have long faces, when you are brazen enough to own that you mean to be a drunkard.”
“I didn't say any such thing,” said Jack, indignantly.
“Perhaps I have ears,” remarked Aunt Rachel, sententiously, “and perhaps I have not. It's a new thing for a nephew to tell his aunt that she lies. They didn't use to allow such things when I was young.—But the world's going to rack and ruin, and I shouldn't much wonder if the people are right that says it's comin' to an end.”
Here Mrs. Crump happily interposed, by asking Jack to go round to the grocery, in the next street, and buy a pint of milk.
Jack took his cap and started, with alacrity, glad to leave the dismal presence of Aunt Rachel.
He had scarcely opened the door when he started back in surprise, exclaiming, “By hokey, if there isn't a basket on the steps!”