"It's lovely under here," the child answered; "I'd rather stay."
"Phwat in th' name o' Hiven have ye been doin'?"
"Playing tournament, Riley," came back the voice from under the bed.
"It's a splendid game. Do you want to learn it some time?"
"'Tis mesel' has sumthin' to learn ye," he retorted. "Come out o' there,
I say."
"I couldn't think of it. I'm tired."
"Well, ye oughter be—smashin' up th' furnichure, an' makin' a noise like a wake. Wait 'til I gits hold iv ye."
"You are a foreign tyrant, Riley—I shall never yield to you."
"Furrin fiddlesticks—I'll lave th' whole mess f'r ye'er mother ter see when she gits home, d'ye mind."
"All right, Riley; I'll wait for her here."
Again the old man retreated, his indignation increasing as he waited for the return of the motor-party. Mrs. Gorham was given no opportunity even to remove her wraps before she was solemnly led to the scene of the disaster. Allen and Alice followed close behind, ignorant of the nature of the calamity, but feeling certain by Riley's manner that it was a serious one. They gazed for a moment at the wreck before them.