"All right, Gote. Sit down and off with your boot," returned Nicholas, putting down his last and taking up his measures.
"Let me have 'em as soon as you can," said Gotobed. "And be sure to make 'em a neat fit," he added, laughing, "else they'll, maybe be throwed back on your hands."
"They'll give satisfaction, you may depend," returned Ransquattle, straightening himself and throwing his head back on his shoulders in his accustomed fashion; "whatever I undertake is always done in the best style."
"Eh! I hadn't noticed that," said Gotobed, innocently. "You're goin' to the sleighin' to-morrow night, I s'pose?"
"Yes; and I calculate to take Mildred Keith."
"You do!" Lightcap ejaculated in tones of mingled anger and inquiry, his brows knitting wrathfully, a hot flush dyeing his swarthy cheek. "Have you asked her? got her consent?"
"Her? what her? may I ask?" queried Yorke Mocker, coming in as Gotobed's question was propounded, Wallace Ormsby close at his heels.
"No, I haven't asked her yet, but I shall in the course of the day; and now I warn you fellows that she's my choice and you may each pick out some other girl to take to the sleighing."