"Oh, Lor'," gasped Denis, in exhausted tones, "I'm done! And with my last breath I maintain 'tis my shawl."
"There, now, I've let everything go. Twirl me—twist me—do what you will with me," said Ted. "Get up, O.B.! I say, ware shins, old man!"
They stumbled to their feet and stood and surveyed the row of dilapidated candles—bent double, lying full length on the ground, squashed flat, and one only still alight.
"Ted, shake hands. In face of the sad and gloomy year I see before us, I can harbour no ill feeling towards you; though 'twas my shawl, yet let us be as brothers in misfortune."
"January, February, March, April, May, June, July—July is to be our one and only joyful month, O.B.!"
"And now," pursued Denis, "let us bow to the ladies of the company. Our awe and admiration—always intense—have increased by five hundred yards, four inches, during the last half hour of sad experience. Amn't I right, sweet brother?"
Ted bowed; then his eyes twinkled as he fixed them on the Atom's long legs.
"My awe and admiration for Sheila Pat remain as they were," he announced firmly.
The Atom sat down suddenly on the floor.
"Oh, the mess!" sighed Nell, "the awful mess!"