"You don't like 'em, do you?"
"Do you want to have them five times a week—in springtime?"
The plate, bountifully helped, returned from hand to hand down the table, laden with prunes and maledictions.
"I didn't know," Stover said apologetically.
"Well, now you know," said the Coffee-colored Angel vindictively, "don't you so much as stir 'em with your spoon. Don't you dare!"
Stover, being thus forbidden, calmly, wickedly, chuckling inwardly, emptied his plate, smacked his lips and exclaimed:
"My! those are delicious. Pass my plate up for some more, will you, Mr. White?"
"Now, why did you do that?" said Butsey White when they were alone in their room.
"I couldn't help it. I just couldn't help it," said Stover ruthfully. "It was such a joke!"