“Ole King Co—ole
Was a jo—olly old so—ul!”
“Pray, pray!” implored Miss Letty nervously,—“do get Boy out of that room! Really, my dear, it isn’t fit for the child. I beg of you! I—I—should like to see Boy!”
“Well, I can’t go and fetch him,” declared Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir with a deeply-injured expression; “I should only get pushed out of the room, or hit in the eye, if I attempted it when Jim is like this. But I’ll send Gerty.”
And as Gerty just then entered with all the necessities for tea, minus the milk, she added,
“Fetch Master Boy in here, will you?”
“Yes, ’m. If he’ll come with me.”
She disappeared to fulfil her mission.
Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir sank back into the depths of her easy-chair with the manner of one who has done every duty that could possibly be expected of her. Miss Letitia clasped and unclasped her neatly gloved hands nervously. The noises of mingled coughing and yelling increased in ferocity,—and soon they were broken by two widely differing sounds,—a drunken curse, and a child’s laughter.
“D——n you, get out of this!”
“Kiss-Letty! Ooo—ee! My kissy-kissy Kiss-Letty!”