A flicker of annoyance crossed his face that his new word should be thus lightly bandied, but he went on—"Just listen here: an apple-woman who had four score of apples in her cart, sold three dozen at four pence, half-penny a dozen; two and a half dozen at five pence a dozen. At what price would she have to sell the remaining, in order to realize"—
"And look here," I interrupted, wrathfully, "Why does she always give us sums about an apple-woman, or a muffin-man? It just makes a chap hungry. Why doesn't she make one up about a dentist for a change, or somethin' like that?"
"Yes," assented Angel, catching at the idea. "Like this: if a dentist pulled five teeth out of one lady, and seven and a half out of another, at two shillings apiece how many must he pull in order to—"
"Then there's undertakers," I broke in. "If a undertaker buried nine corpses one day, and six and a half the next—"
I had to stop, for Angel was convulsed with laughter, and The Seraph was beginning to get noisy.
Angel produced a small bottle of licorice water from his pocket and took a long mouthful. Then he handed it to me. It was soothing, delicious.
"Me too!" cried The Seraph, and I held it to his eager little mouth.
"Here," said Angel angrily, "he's swiggin' down the whole thing. Drop it, young'un!"
At the same moment, the door opened quietly, and Mrs. Handsomebody entered. I tore the bottle from The Seraph's clinging lips, and stuffed it, corkless, into my pocket.
Mrs. Handsomebody sat down and disposed her skirt about her knees. Her eyes travelled over us.