'What is it now, Tom?' she asked, as he subsided into an easy-chair with a curious expression of mingled fear, shame, amusement, and distress in his brick-red countenance.
'I'm in an awful scrape, ma'am.'
'Of course; I'm always prepared for scrapes when you appear. What is it? Run over some old lady who is going to law about it?' asked Mrs Jo cheerfully.
'Worse than that,' groaned Tom.
'Not poisoned some trusting soul who asked you to prescribe, I hope?'
'Worse than that.'
'You haven't let Demi catch any horrid thing and left him behind, have you?'
'Worse even than that.'
'I give it up. Tell me quick; I hate to wait for bad news.'
Having got his listener sufficiently excited, Tom launched his thunderbolt in one brief sentence, and fell back to watch the effect.