“And I’m going to make you sit under the ministrations of the pious Mr. Langstuff—”
“Foolstuff!” growled Middleton, turning his eye on him.
“—For your soul’s good and your eyes’ comfort,” continued the Lieutenant placidly. “For they do say, Larry, that he preaches to the prettiest lot of unrepentant, stony-hearted, fair rebels that ever combined the love of Heaven with the hatred of their fellow-mortals. You are running to waste, Larry, and I must utilize you.”
“Jackass!” muttered Middleton, but he looked at Thurston, who smoked solemnly.
“For they say, Larry, there’s going to be a dancing-party, and we must be there, you know.”
Middleton’s face, which had begun to clear up, clouded again.
“What’s the good of it? Not one of ’em would speak to us. I met one just now—and she looked at me—they all look at me, or by me—as if I were a snake!”
“As you are, Larry—a snake in the grass,” interjected the little Lieutenant. “Pretty?”
“As a peach—Can’t you be serious a minute?”—for Thurston’s eyes were twinkling. “Every one looks as if she hated me.”