The Judge laughed, Titus laughed, the boarders giggled, the children shrieked, and even Mrs. Tingsby, though she had not heard a word of what was said, laughed with the best of them, and was soon wiping the tears from her eyes.
“I don’t know what’s amusin’ you,” she gasped, convulsively, “but it must be somethin’ powerful funny.”
At this Mafferty redoubled his own merriment, and presently the uproar became so loud that the Judge rose. He really could not take part in this any longer, though he was still laughing himself.
Mafferty paid no attention to him. His eye was on the smart girl. She alone of all the children had not once allowed a crease of amusement to form itself on her face. She was stubborn, disagreeable, even ugly.
“Laugh, you goose, laugh,” he suddenly cried, stopping short and snapping his fingers within an inch of her nose. “If you don’t learn to laugh the devil will catch you. You can’t go through life kicking at Providence and have any sort of a good time.”
The girl drew herself back and began an hysterical giggle.
“Not bad to start with,” said the man, complacently. “I’ll teach you to laugh better than that, though, you insolent wisp of humanity.”
The Judge again stared at him. He was curiously attracted by this man.
“Have you been on the stage?” he asked, suddenly.
“Yes, sir,” said Mafferty, good-humoredly, “the stage of the world. First as a physician, then down, down through various stages of trampdom. Great at deceivin’ farmers’ wives. Now imposing on society as proprietor of a cat farm.”