"He's only a liar and a sucker-up!" he exclaimed. "He does it for just what he can get out of it! Thinks I can't see! Yah!" he growled in disgust.
"But listen!" said Harry, "Just listen to this!
How could I look upon the day?
They should have stabb'd me where I lay,
Oriana—
They should have trod me into clay,
Oriana!
What do you think of that? Isn't it fine? He seems to have had a rottener time even than Mottele's giving you! But isn't it grand stuff?"
"Yes, I know, I know! But tell me what I can do! I hate him! I want to kill him!"
Harry looked up reflectively. "Kill him?" he asked. "Stab him where he lies, Oriana! That's an idea, Philip! I can lend you a peashooter. Or, why not try a gonfalon? Gonfalons are awfully tricky!"
"You're laughing!" said Philip indignantly. "I wish you came to our chayder, you wouldn't laugh then, I can tell you!"
"But you talked about killing yourself, didn't you? Really, I don't know what to say! Kill him or try to forget about him!"
"Oh God, God!" said Philip, banging his forehead in despair. "It's so miserable! While I'm being half killed, he sits smiling and wiping his rotten nose!"
Harry looked up sympathetically.