"Philip," said Uncle Jack, solemnly, while we were at breakfast next morning, "I should beg your pardon for trying to test your courage in the—the consummately idiotic way I took to do it last night, but"—and he looked pretty sheepish—"I—I think I got the worst of it."
"I think you did, sir," I answered him, choking a bit.
"The disguise was a good one, though," he went on, with a sort of feeble chuckle, "and leaving my false teeth out, changed my voice completely—eh, Phil?"
"Yes, sir—until you hollered out in the closet that it was all a joke, and wanted me to let you out," I answered him, as I got up and edged toward the door.
"Why didn't you let me out then?" roared Uncle Jack, who is rather quick-tempered.
I hope I wasn't impudent. Truly, I didn't intend to be. "Because, Uncle Jack," I said, as I turned the door knob, "I have heard you say more than once that he who can not take a joke should not make one." And as I dodged through the door I heard Uncle Jack groan.
NOT TALL ENOUGH.