“If you think that Taco is no better than a Spartan, you know nothing at all about him,” he said, fiercely.
Cecile looked at him, but, before Amélie could interpose, he continued:
“Taco is the only person with whom I can talk about music and who understands every word I say. And I don’t believe I could talk with a Spartan.”
“Jules, how rude you are!” cried Suzette.
“I don’t care!” he exclaimed, furiously, rising suddenly and stamping his foot. “I don’t care! I won’t hear Taco abused; and Aunt Cecile knows it and only does it to tease me. And I think it very mean to tease a boy, very mean....”
His mother and sisters tried to bring him to reason with their authority. But he caught up his books:
“I don’t care! I won’t have it!”
He was gone in a moment, furious, slamming the door, which groaned with the shock. Amélie was trembling in every nerve:
Oh, that boy!” she hissed out, shivering. “That Jules, that Jules!...”
“It’s nothing,” said Cecile, gently, excusing him. “He is just a little excitable....”