“See here, old fellow, that's a nice way,—to come home on a holiday, and have such a face. I don't wonder you want to sneak in here.”
“It's pretty hard,” said Joel, trying not to sniffle, “to have a fellow you bring home from school turn his back on you.”
“Well, he couldn't turn his back on you,” said Ben, wanting very much to laugh, but he restrained himself, “if you went with him.”
“I can't follow him about,” said Joel, in a loud tone of disgust. “He's twanging his old banjo all the time, and Polly's got him to sing, and he's practising up. I wish 'twas smashed.”
“What?” said Ben, only half comprehending.
“Why, his old banjo. I didn't think he'd play it all the time,” said Joel, who was secretly very proud of his friend's accomplishments; and he displayed a very injured countenance.
“See here, now, Joe,” said Ben, laying a very decided hand on Joel's jacket, “do you just drop all this, and come out of your hole. Aren't you ashamed, Joe! Run along, and find Beresford, and pitch into whatever he's doing.”
“I can't do anything for that old concert,” said Joel, who obeyed enough to come “out of the old hole,” but stood glancing at Ben with sharp black eyes.
“I don't know about that,” said Ben, “you can at least help to get the tickets ready.”
“Did Polly say so?” demanded Joel, all in a glow. “Say, Ben, did she?” advancing on him.