"Phoh! What are you crying for?" It was Van; and he was so delighted to catch Joel in this plight that he chortled over and over, "Joe Pepper's been crying!" and he began to dance around the room.
"I haven't," cried Joel, too wild to think of anything but Van's taunts, and dashing his hands aside.
"Oh, what an awful whopper!" exclaimed Van, coming quite close to peer up into Joel's face, "and you don't know how you look,—just like that baboon at the Zoo, with the little squinched-up eyes!" he added pleasantly.
"I don't care—go 'way!" said Joel, crossly, and flapping out his hands, regardless of anything but the wild desire to keep Van from a close inspection. Something jingled as it fell to the floor.
"What's that?" cried Van, dancing away from Joel, and peering with bright eyes on the carpet.
"It's nothing," screamed Joel, flying down in front of the sofa, and pawing wildly along the carpet. "I tell you 'tisn't," he kept on screaming. "Go 'way this minute."
"Oh, now I know you've got something that doesn't belong to you, and you're keeping it secret from the rest of us." Van threw himself flat on the floor and tried to crowd in between Joel and the old sofa.
"I haven't; it's mine, it's—it's—Go right away!"
But struggle and push as he might, Van somehow seemed to wedge himself in; and Joel's poor eyes not allowing him to see much, it was just one minute, when—"O goody!" The key was in Van's hand, and he was dancing again in the middle of the room.
Joel sprang to his feet and tossed his stubby black hair off from his forehead, "You give that right straight back here, Van Whitney!" he shouted.