“I am appealing to his better self,” reflected Miss Caxton's parent. “The instinct of affection that a child has is a most wonderful thing, a wonderful thing.”
Leander dissolved into tears.
“Hang the brat! What's got into him now?”
Miss Caxton's parent arose and paced the floor. Leander's grief continued unchecked. His father regarded him in amazement; the twin's capacity for sorrow was very astonishing; and his anger merged into something akin to wonder.
“He must be very wet inside,” he thought
He addressed the twin in conciliatory tones.
“See here, Leander, do you think it safe to cry like that?”
But Leander, unheeding him, wept on, in a highly original manner. His father grew uneasy.
“Why doesn't he stop? Hush! There! There! To please papa, who loves you so much. Confound you! How long is this going to last—will it be all night?” he asked himself.
His resentment was weakening. Each sob of the twin lessened the enormity of Miss Caxton's crime. Her father was willing to take her back at any price—and The Fool into the bargain. In desperation he brought the sugar bowl and placed it as an offering of peace at Leander's feet.