"Shall I show you how to skin the cat, Sis?" Irene interrupted hastily, pulling herself up with a jerk.
But Sissy was fat and had none of her sister's wiry agility. She declined; her mind was attuned to other issues just then, and her soul was a-quiver with malicious, anticipatory glee; for this was the day of Split's music lesson, and her teacher was none other than Sissy herself.
"So, if you want it," the younger sister's voice rose threateningly, "you've got to come now."
"Let's leave it till the afternoon." Split's voice came from somewhere in the midst of her evolutions.
"Will you come?" demanded Sissy peremptorily. "Once!"
How could Split answer? Her mouth was tight shut; she was pulling herself up inch by inch, slowly, slowly, till her chin should rest upon the bar.
"Will you come? Twice!"
Split's face was purple, and there was an agonized prayer for delay in her eyes.
"Will you come? Third—and la-ast—" Sissy prolonged the note quaveringly. It was not her intention to provoke her victim beyond endurance. These lessons, which gave her the whip-hand over the doughty and invincible Split, were far too precious to her.
"And la-ast," she repeated inexorably.