“Leave the room, sir! Clear out this instant!” His weak face looked weaker in its inappropriate assumption of command.
“Do you hear what I say, sir?”
Arty stopped crying, and steadied his quivering infant mouth till it expressed his invincible determination.
“I’ll g-g-g-go for Mommy. But I w-w-w-won’t go for Daddy. I doesh’n’t ‘ike him.”
“Hsh-sh—poor Daddy—he’s so tired. Run away to the nursery, darlings, all of you.”
“I can’t think why on earth you have them down here at this time,” said their father, as the door slammed behind the last retreating child.
“My dear, you said yourself it’s the only time you have for seeing them. I’m sure you don’t get much of them.”
“I get a great deal too much sometimes.”
“If we only had a big place for them to run about in—”
“What’s the use of talking about things we haven’t got, and never shall have? Is supper ready?”