"Let's tag her," proposed Van cheerfully, not caring to get upstairs first, since Percy wasn't going to race with him, "I will; come on!"
"No, no," said Percy, in alarm, "she won't like that. Think of something else."
"I've thought of one thing, and you won't do it," said Van composedly, sitting down on the very chair Polly had left. "Now it's your turn."
"But it was no good—that old thing you thought of," retorted Percy, in disdain; "no one could do it."
"I thought it out, anyway," repeated Van obstinately, "and you wouldn't do it, so I'm not going to think up anything else till you have thought something, Percy Whitney."
"Well, you needn't be so cross," said Percy sourly, and squaring up to his chair.
"I'm not cross," contradicted Van, looking up at him with a very red face.
"Yes, you are, just as cross as a snapping-turtle," said Percy, trying to think of the worst thing he had encountered, and quite pleased as he saw its effect on Van.
"You shall just take that back, Percy Whitney," declared Van, hopping out of his chair, and doubling up his small fists. "I'm not a snapping-turtle."
Percy edged off, with a sharp lookout for the fists.