“Where’s your eyes? Can’t you see I am?” snapped Pet.
“Well, you know it serves you right,” said Ranty, by way of consolation, as he took out a jack-knife and began to whittle.
“Oh! if I was only out at him,” muttered Pet, between her teeth.
“You haven’t seen Erminie since you came home, I suppose,” said Ranty.
“No, I haven’t! You know very well I haven’t,” said Pet, crossly. “How’s Ray?”
“Oh, he’s first-rate—up and about. His wound didn’t amount to much. I’m going over there now; got any message to send?”
“No; only to bid them good-by. I never expect to see any of them again,” said Pet, with a deep groan.
“Why, where are you going?” asked Ranty, in surprise.
“To commit suicide. Do you know if choking hurts much, Ranty?”
“Can’t say—never tried it. If it’s an easy death, just let me know when you’ve done it. I’m off.” And Ranty decamped, whistling; and Pet was left locked up in the garret.